A Visit to the Ladies Room

classic
BBB: Did you write that? Either way, no matter...it's a classic. Thanks

Re: classic


Nope, I don't know who is the outraged author.

BBB

Yes, I stroll into the men's toilet, avoiding eye contact with the guys who are already leaving. Stand blissfully before the urinal a minute or two, and wash my hands before leaving. What could be simpler. It's good to be a man.

THE STANCE
I posted this before but it is worth repeating. It's my favorite toilet humor.---BBB

THE STANCE

My mother, like many others, was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she would bring me into the toilet stall and teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the toilet seat. Having assured herself that the toilet seat was dry, she would carefully cover the seat with strips of toilet paper. Finally, she would instruct, "Never, ever sit on a public toilet seat." Then she taught me The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of my flesh make contact with the toilet seat. Of course, by this time, I'd have peed down my leg and we would have to go home. She never explained to me why, if she covered the seat with toilet paper, I still had to avoid sitting on the covered seat. But I never question my mother's wisdom and tried to follow her instructions all of my life.

That was a long time ago. I've had lots of experience with public toilets since then. I'm still not particularly fond of public toilets, especially those with powerful, red-eye sensors. Those toilets know when you want them to flush. They are psychic toilets. But I always confound their psychic ability when following my mother's advice and assuming The Stance.

The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is full to bursting. This is most likely to occur after watching a full-length feature film. I always drink a two liter cup of Diet Coke during the movie. I sit still through a three-hour saga because, for God's sake, even if I didn't wipe or wash my hands in the bathroom, I'd still miss the pivotal part of the movie or the second scene, in which they flash the leading man's naked derriere. Determined, I cross my legs and hold it---and hold it, until the first film credits roll. Only then do I sprint to the bathroom about ready to explode pee all over my internal organs, trying to reach it ahead of half the women in the audience racing for the same single bathroom.

At the bathroom, I find a line of women that made me wonder if there is a half-price sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. I join the end of the line and wait, smiling politely at all the other ladies who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. As I finally inch closer to the toilet stalls, I begin checking for feet under the doors to confirm every one is occupied. I hoped no one was doing frivolous things behind those doors, like blowing their noses or checking the contents of their wallets. Finally, a stall door opened and I sprinted toward it, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. As I entered I found the door wouldn't latch. Who cares? At this point, it didn't matter.

I hung my handbag on the door hook with one hand and yanked down my pants with the other. Then I assumed The Stance. I know from experience that it's nearly impossible to hold The Stance during a movie pee. Finally, as I begin to feel relief, my thighs begin to shake. I was desperate to sit down, but I hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it. I held The Stance as my thighs experienced a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take my mind off the trembling, as an eternal optimist, I reached for the toilet paper to be ready when I was done. We all know in our hearts, the toilet paper dispenser is always going to be empty. Just once, I thought, I'm a nice person who deserves finding a stall with toilet paper in the dispenser. My thighs shake some more. I remembered the tiny napkin in my pocket that I had wiped my fingers on after eating buttered popcorn. It will have to do. I crumble it in the puffiest way possible, but it was still smaller than my thumbnail.

Without warning, a desperate woman pushed open the door to my stall with the broken latch. My handbag handing on the door hook swung back and whacked me in the head. "Occupied!" I scream as I reached to close the door. Losing my The Stance balance, I dropped my buttered popcorn napkin in a puddle on the floor and fell backward, directly onto the toilet seat. In horror, I ejected my fanny from the toilet seat like a rocket shot to the moon, but it was too late. My e bottom had made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat. I hadn't taken the time to lay toilet paper on the seat, even if there had been any in the dispenser. My body flushed with shame as I wondered what my mother would think of me if she knew. Her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet became so confused that it flushed. It's action sent up a stream of water akin to a fountain then, reversing itself, suddenly sucking everything down with such force that I grabbed onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China. At that point, I was exhausted and gave up. I finished peeing into the flushing water. I tried to wipe my dripping fanny with a Chicklet wrapper I found in my pocket.

I hauled up my pants, grabbed my handbag from the stall door and walked out, head down in shame, to the sinks. I couldn't figure out how to operate the sink with the automatic sensor, so I wiped my hands with spit and a dry paper towel. I walked past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point. One kind soul at the very end of the line whispered to me that I was trailing a piece of toilet paper on my shoe as long as the Mississippi River. I yanked the paper from my shoe, plunked it in the woman's hand and said with a teeth-clenching smile, "Here. You might need this."

As I exited the restroom, I saw my spouse, who had entered, used, exited the men's restroom that didn't have a long waiting line, and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for me. "What took you so long?" he asked, annoyed. Recalling that men's restrooms have urinals that don't require them to take The Stance because of their male anatomy, I kicked him sharply in the shin and we went home.

Home is where the only place where I don't have to take The Stance. It's where the only germs and life forms on the toilet seat I have to worry about are when the peeing aim of males in my family, young and old, is faulty. But love forgives all faults---except when I enter a dark bathroom in the middle of the night to sit on the toilet. I learn with a cold wet shock that my spouse didn't lower the toilet seat, creating an unexpected bidet experience. At least I have toilet paper nearby to wipe my dripping fanny---that is if he remembered to replace the empty toilet paper roll.

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so long.

One for the mens room
Restroom Automation

I remember my excitement the first time I saw a restroom faucet with a motion detector. It was like magic. I just waved my hand in front of the sensor and water spat forth. It was like the food replicator on the Star Ship Enterprise, but Version 1.0 that only produces cooty water.

Eventually the soap dispenser caught up. That was less exciting for two reasons: 1) It was just copying the water faucet, and 2) It is exactly how I imagine it would feel if a bird pooped on my hand.

Lately, some paper towel dispensers have joined the action. Activate the sensor and a paper towel presents itself. Scientists have obviously spent a lot of time calculating the proper dimensions for this towel. It's precisely the size that is too small to be satisfying and yet large enough that you won't rip the dispenser off the wall, smash it in the sink and grab a big wad of towels from its stinkin' guts. But you're tempted.

I love all of these motion sensor devices despite the fact that I live my life in a partial Sixth Sense way, i.e. barely registering as alive. For example, I often have conversations with people who don't know I'm even talking to them. I am usually not aware of this until they get distracted by a bright light or noise and wander away. Motion sensors give me the same problem. I generally have to solicit two or three sinks before I find a faucet that will acknowledge me. It takes two or three more sinks to find a soap dispenser that is willing to poop on my hand. If the paper towel dispenser has a motion sensor, I know I'm in for a long day.

I'm anxiously awaiting the next innovation in restroom automation. I assume developers are already working on the last mile: A robotic arm to unzip my pants, grab my unit, then do the holding, shaking, and repackaging. I'm too busy to do that stuff for myself. Plus I was already spoiled by the time they automated the paper towel dispenser.

The Autopee device (it needs a name) would be problematic because every guy is built different. Somehow it would need to know the dimensions of what's behind your zipper so it didn't accidentally neuter you. I suppose the best way to do that is to have some sort of voice recognition software that asks you what kind of car you drive. If it's a Porsche, for example, you might be compensating. If it's a Honda minivan, you're probably sporting an anaconda.

You'd also have to tell the Autopee how much shaking you want, ranging anywhere from two quick flicks to a happy ending.

Good luck getting that image out of your head.
-------------------------------

This is exactly why we invented the Footpull.

Our product, the Footpull™, is a device that goes on the bottom of public restroom doors and allows the user to open the door with their foot instead of their hands. This alternative method for opening the door prevents the person from having to touch the door handle contaminating their hands upon leaving the facility. It is easy to use, safe for all shoes and sandals, requires no electricity and is easy to install.

The restroom door handles are a haven for a variety of pathogens including those that cause the flu, hepatitis A, salmonella and E. coli, which is transferred by direct contact with feces. For this reason, interest by schools, universities, hospitals and restaurants has been very strong.

Restaurants ask us about the Footpull™ because patrons feel that cleanliness is a priority to the establishment and they tell the managers so. The health inspectors, although are not allowed to "make you buy" the product, have mentioned to us that they like the fact the establishments are using it.

Hospitals are making a push for a more germ free environment. Many are redesigning their restrooms, which is expensive. Some want to reverse their doors to swing out, but this is against code in many instances. The Footpull™ is an affordable alternative that will address this situation. We are in hospitals now and soon will begin installing the VA Hospitals.

With schools and universities, we normally sell and install 10-15 test units around the school for feedback. This has been an effective way for the schools to judge acceptance. All of the schools and universities that we have installed are very pleased with the Footpull.

do the foot pulls get vandalised/broken at all?

tmi

Yaya calls automatically flushing toilets "naughty potties," because they constantly flush while she's going potty.

I HATE HATE HATE public restrooms.

They wouldn't be so bad if people weren't such damn inconsiderate pigs.

It's one or all of the below:

- No tp and no warning draped on the door (the international symbol for "no tp" is a length haning from the stall door) and no waring from the last person in there...."hey, there's no tp left"
- Pee on the seat
- Pee on the floor (come on....the hole is HUGE, how can you miss?)
- Tp ALL over the pee soaked floor
- Pee and paper in the bowl (is it THAT hard to flush????)
- Poo and paper in the bowl (WTF?)
- Door doesn't latch so you have to hover, pee, hold your purse (if there is no hook, which half the damn time there isn't) AND hold the door shut all at the same time. No one warns you there is no latch.
- Dirty tampons/pads in the bin that haven't been wrapped up with tp and the lid is broken so you see everything...or it's full and the lid won't close. (come on people, would YOU like to see someone else nasty? Or worse, CLEAN it up???)
- Worse, dirty pad NOT in the bin, just hanging out somewhere in the stall.
- It stinks. Like dirty...yeah.

I HATE HATE HATE public restrooms. There are so few that are clean and ok to pee in.

i am so glad im a guy and i feel srry for u ladies
although most of the stories of guys bathrooms suggest real bad hygien most i find not as bad as wat the females ones sound (although there r a few bad ones)

I designed restrooms, a couple of decades ago, if only in community rec areas. Most of the people designing now probably care, as I did, given availability of something to specify and available budget. Most of the designers aren't you're enemies.

ive done some design work at school and we did look at toilet/bathroom designs and i know how much consideration the put into there designs

I've seldom seen public washrooms that bad, although as a designer visiting sites under construction, I've had to use the toilet that the painter has used to wash out his rolling pans. Think of that the next time you admiringly touch a well-painted wall, 'coz it's the same pot that all the other workers have used for the traditional reason.

Because of that and some travelling to less equiped areas of the world, I've learned to always, always carry kleenex.

And, because some kind soul once provided the service to me in a time of need, I always pull the toilet paper to hang just below the bottom edge of the stall wall. Then if the next stall is out of tp, the desperate person can reach for it. A pay-it-forward, good karma, thing.

Nods to Tico..