…And It’s Come to Workplace Toilets

I'mma Spray Your Ass the Minute You Walk in Here, Bitch...

During my tenure at my current place of employment, I have enjoyed a relatively hassle-free relationship with my bathroom needs. I drink about a pot and a half of coffee every day so I am in there as much as anybody. I know the nooks and crannies of the bathroom, I know its mannerisms. I have a pretty good idea who is urinating on the floor and I am positive that I know who continuously leaves the sports page in the handicap stall. I’ve got a rhythm. A routine, if you will. Until recently…

Someone, (or something) who has more power than I will ever have, is screwing with the sanctity of my bathroom experience. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t even use the one designated for the public. Eventually, I am going to have to get up from my desk, go out to my vehicle, and drive to Quiktrip. I can’t believe that one human being can do this to another. So what happened?

Someone really does get a considerable amount of urine on the floor on a daily basis. Before, the night cleaning crew would come in and give it a once-over. Traditionally they didn’t do a very good job, but at least the area got some attention. Today, some joker has installed a no-slip mat that looks like a miniature mud flap off of an 18-wheeler. Apparently they couldn’t handle the potential humiliation that awaited the guy that slipped and fell into a puddle of urine. Perhaps they had already fallen into a puddle of urine at some other job and couldn’t bear the thought that it might happen again. You can imagine what happened – The guy started urinating on the mat. Nobody ever wants to touch the mat so that they can mop beneath it. Now the room reeks of weeks worth of urine. Good thinking.

I speculate that to combat this smell (along with others inherent to the bathroom (I swear that some of the people around here eat rotten eggs for every meal)), this evil figure ordered that automatic bathroom-freshener-sprayer-thing be installed in the room. There is one facing inward between the two stalls and one next to the sink. These devices have become the bane of my existence.

First, when a person is using a public bathroom and someone else is there, what goes on is very businesslike. You do your thing, you wash your hands, you leave. Perhaps a little small talk, but that’s it. When a person is by themselves, everything is fair game as long as your can compose yourself within the time frame of when you hear them opening the door and when they actually open the door (about a second). Although one can’t get away with much, it does become possible to pick ones teeth, check for ear and nose hair, remove that wedgie and maybe even relax a little bit. Anyway, these stupid bathroom sprayers make noises when they go off. There is the sound of plastic rubbing against plastic. There is a weird clicking noise that sounds like the shutter on a camera. Then there is a spraying noise. When a person is enjoying the respite allowed by private bathroom time, this device going off is enough to give the guy a coronary. I feel like smashing it every time it goes off.

Second, the spray on these devices is strong enough to disperse the ‘pleasant odor’several feet per second. The business end of these devices are mounted approximately 81 inches off of the floor. With my work boots on, I am approximately 74½ inches. You do the math. That’s right – it sprays right on my head as I am washing my hands almost every time. I am then forced to spend my workday smelling like whatever scent the evil entity chooses.

Finally, the scent itself is intolerable. Dave Attell said it best when he said, “What do you got going on in here? What, is there a lemonade stand in here with me? Stop trying to hide it! Nothing beats ass!! First, it was ass and that phony ‘rainy day’ type smell. That lasted for about two weeks. Now its cinnamon. Cinnamon! As if we are to believe that somebody stopped taking a dump long enough to bake up a batch of sticky buns.

So if you see me standing in line waiting for the bathroom at QT smelling like I just baked off a batch of cinnamon-sprinkled asscakes, just leave me alone – I’ve had a rough day.