November 17, 2009
I am not a fan of public restrooms. As a matter of fact, if it was socially acceptable, I would rather drop trou in a parking lot, between cars or behind a big cart or something. Very rarely have I seen a public restroom that did not completely disgust me, and believe you me, I have seen some restrooms. While I have always had pretty strict policy about peeing in public potties, when I was potty training Ethan, I had no choice but to venture into hundreds of them. I know that one of the pluses of having a boy, is that you can oftentimes skip the whole bathroom thing and let them go wherever and whenever the mood strikes. Unfortunately, when you are potty training, they need to go in an actual potty. If I had let him go just anywhere, instead of being potty trained he would have ended up bush trained, alley trained or empty water bottle trained. While all of those options are easier, I’m afraid they might be frowned upon by the general public.
This arduous training period lasted long enough for me to see nearly every bathroom in not only Houston, but in most of it’s suburbs. By my intensive and highly technical mathematical calculations, for every hour of an outing, we went into at least 30 restrooms. Office Max? Yep. Kohl’s? Of course. Sam’s Club? You betcha! Wal-Mart? You don’t even want to know what I saw in there once. It seemed to me that my son wasn’t happy with having ruined my 2-pack-abs and my REM sleep, now he wanted to ruin my No Public Potty Policy as well.
Before I gave birth to the Pee Pee King of Texas, I not only had buns of steel, but a bladder of steel. I usually made it through a whole day of school without ever having to use the bathroom. Although I asked my teacher’s for bathroom passes so often I’m sure they thought I had a severe bladder disease, I was never actually in the bathroom, but just wandering the halls, sometimes popping into other classrooms for an impromptu visit or whatever. My point is, I would hold it all day just to avoid using a public restroom. Don’t even get me started on Porta Potties, or, Lord help me, airplane bathrooms, which you have to be under 100 lbs to fit into, and even if you manage to squeeze yourself in, it’s like trying to pee in a thimble while riding a galloping horse. By the time you’re done, you’ve not only touched every surface in there, but you most likely have a concussion as well. I once made it all the way to Hawaii with my legs crossed and my window shade closed so I couldn’t see the big, wet ocean. I arrived on the Garden Isle uncomfortable and cranky, but dry as a bone. That Hawaii trip taught me three things: #1) I hate poi, #2) Sadly, my dream trip to Australia will forever remain just a dream, at least until we can afford our own private jet with life-size bathroom, and #3) If you sit with your legs crossed for 6 hours it is nearly impossible to uncross them.
Because I think that my bathroom phobias are completely and utterly logical, I cannot for the life of me, understand people who go through life all willy-nilly, just using the toilet everywhere they go. When worse comes to worst, I at the very least, do an in-depth sweep of the facilities before making any final decisions. My checklist includes, but is not limited to the following: Seat covers, toilet paper, hand soap, a freshly-cleaned scent, and paper towels. Air dryers are not only annoying, but are also completely unusable unless you have a doorless bathroom, due to the fact that the paper towel serves the dual purpose of drying your hands and allowing you to open the door without touching the handle, which is without a doubt one of the most popular rides at the e coli amusement park.
What boggles my mind the most, is what some people think is acceptable to do in a public restroom. I have witnessed some life-changing stuff, my friends. Some life-changing stuff indeed…And what I always wonder is, “Are you homeless? Is this your only access to a bathroom?” Because that is the only logical explanation I can come up with for why someone would choose to take what should be their MOST private potty time (you know what I’m talkin’ about) and make it public. There are just some things that should be taken care of at home. There is no reason to inflict your most personal moments onto an innocent bystander who is just trying to follow the Swine Flu Prevention Guidelines and wash her hands in the bathroom at Macy’s. Yeah, I’m talking to you, “lady” in the 3rd stall from the door.
So, to sum up this long and rambling post, I would like to remind you all of a few things: (1)Three-year-olds are cute,but not when they are in a stall with the door wide open not only making a #2, but describing it in great detail. Close the doors, people, I don’t wanna see it and I don’t wanna hear it. (2) Treat the restrooms well. If you don’t want someone doing it in your bathroom, do not do it in the public bathroom. Would you go to Nana’s house a write “Cathy is a b*tch” on her wall or throw your toilet paper on the floor? I don’t think so. (3)Flush, flush, flush. I am begging you. (4)Wash your hands. For the love of Pete, people. We can all see you going straight from stall to door.
As we all now know, the Houston Police really love their hidden cameras, and I for one, would like to see some sort of “Disgusting, Germ-Spreader, Non-Handwasher Cameras.” I think we should start a Pee Pee Task force. If the cops are too busy reviewing Red Light Camera footage to help, we can handle this ourselves. Most of our cell phones have video, so I think we should record the non-hand-washers and post them on You Tube. If shame is what is takes, I am all for it. Who’s with me?
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