It was a Friday night and I needed to use the bathroom. We were at a minor league softball game, and the toilets were inside a trailer. That already spelled trouble. If someone is storing something inside a trailer, that person is basically saying “I give zero fucks about this.”
As soon as I stepped inside, I was slapped in the face with the stench of human excrement. I swear to god, the US Government could have bottled the smell in that trailer and used it at Guantanamo Bay. Of course, I didn’t really expect a public restroom inside a metal trailer, in a dirt lot, at a minor league softball game to have a pleasant smell. But this was over the top. What in god’s green earth caused such a horrid, gut wrenching smell?
Someone had taken all the toilet paper rolls from each stall and sculpted a sort of science fair volcano. In order to sculpt the TP into a volcano shape, they used urine. Nature’s glue, if you will. And of course they needed lava coming out of the top. Because what kind of amateur hour are we talking about if this person wasn’t going to include lava? With that in mind, this person (or persons) decided to squat over this TP volcano and shit on top of it. And this wasn’t just regular shit. This was diarrhea shit. Which meant this person had to prepare for this. They had to purposely ingest food that would give them diarrhea so that later, when they attended a minor league softball game, they could go shit on top of a TP volcano in the corner of a public restroom within a trailer on a dirt field. The piece de resistance, though, was the word “POOPSUVIUS” scrawled in shit on the wall.
The error, it seems, is on my part. I expect too much from the general public. I expect that when a human being enters a public restroom, they continue to behave as a human being and not a rabid animal. What’s even worse is calling it a “Ladies Room” because there is nothing lady-like about anything inside of it. I have walked into a bathroom stall to see a lump of shit on the floor. Inches from a toilet. The person wasn’t willing to move a few inches. I’ve seen a woman in a stall urinating with the door wide open. Getting a little breeze on her cooch. No big deal. Do you know how much hair I have seen plastered to the rim of the toilet bowl? Who is pissing/shitting so aggressively that they are ripping out their pubic hair?
Beyond the 3rd world country-like conditions of the bathroom stall, the one question that has always bothered me is the tampon dispenser. Because there is no way that a woman came up with that idea. At least, not a thoughtful woman.
I envision a group of middle-aged men hunched over blueprints. All of them puzzled. What to do with the tampons and pads. Can’t flush them. Can’t leave them on the floor. What to do, what to do? Wait! They’ve got it! A metal box! Line it with the thinnest paper and/or plastic imaginable. On second thought, fuck it, don’t even line it. The women can then take the tampons/pads that are seeped with blood/vaginal fluid/urine, wrap it with TP, and dump it into this box. Actually, nah, don’t even use the TP. Just toss it right in there. Perfection! Hearty handshakes all around. Wait a minute–one last question: where do we put the box? The metal box, with no built in system for odor removal. The metal box, brimming with soiled feminine hygiene products. The metal box, which when opened, has the distinct smell of Fisherman’s Wharf on a steamy July day. Another stroke of inspiration! Put that metal box 2 inches from the woman’s face! Eternally shaming her of her body and its naturally occurring functions! Hurrah! A round of beers for all!
Perhaps this post will inspire women and men everywhere to put a little more thought into their trip to the bathroom. Like, for instance, placing bodily fluids into the toilet bowls, and not the floor/toilet seat/door handle. Or, that sinks are for washing your hands, not dispensing vomit. And for the love of god, keeping your volcanoes where they belong: at home.