Bathroom Strangers II

That was the number one duty on my cut list tonight at work. The bathrooms—their details—I was in charge. 

I don’t know if you’ve ever had to clean a public bathroom before, but let me tell you something: GOOD LORD. We are ANIMALS. There is no aiming and zero sympathy. There is just shit (sometimes literally) ev-ery-where.

The only time you wish that male and female bathrooms were consolidated is when you have to clean both of them. This is the case at Huhot, when after I finish scrubbing down the ladies’ muck, I get to barge into the M-E-N’s room. Then I get in there, and I know I shouldn’t be in there because I’m not a dude, and it clearly says M-E-N on the door, and I feel cool. It’s the worst kind of special feeling you’ll ever have.

Then I see what I have to deal with. Shit.

I’m not trying to pass off men as being barbaric, but let me break this down for you:

Now you see what I’m working with here. 

So this evening, I’m cleaning the details of the men’s bathroom, feeling cool because I know I shouldn’t be in the men’s bathroom. And I get interrupted by a man.

I saw him enter and looked up from the mirror I was cleaning. “Oh! I’ll leave—” I started to say as he marched toward the urinal. After all, I was on his turf.

“Oh, no! That’s alright! I’ve just gotta pee.”

And I saw the horror unfold before my eyes, so quickly, and so disgusting. I made a beeline for the door before you could say “detail clean bathrooms.”

I was disgusted to think that I’d have to go back in, finish the job and retrieve my supplies. Five minutes later I moseyed back to the M-E-N’s room, vowing to make it quick.

Quick! Hurry! I commanded myself, but it was too late. Billy the new line filler had to GO.

“I’ll leave!” I told him when I saw him waiting at the door, his eyes googly with constipation. 

“I gotta GO!” 

Fearing that I might relive the same incident that had occurred five minutes prior, I grabbed everything and dashed out the door. Go, Billy, go.

I was done detail cleaning the bathrooms, no matter how unclean the details where. There was no way I was going to scrub another bowl or watch someone whip it out again tonight. No way.

But that Billy, bless his soul. He came up to me shortly after to thank me for leaving so he could use the john, claiming that “I’d saved his underwear.”

Well, shit. Ain’t that special.