Ramblings of a Crowe

I'm Wounded For Life...

Today was a fairly normal day. At work, we spend most of the day cleaning, preparing for a visit from a corporate official. No big deal. My boss even went out and bought a new vacuum cleaner--apparently for me. Granted, the thought was nice, since I killed the old one with my super special skills of distruction (only works on electronics and motor vehicles). But I *hate* vacuuming. It's as bad as doing laundry...no worse...because it requires me to plug something in and actually watch what I'm doing. You can't just go around sucking up everything in a vacuum, you know.

And that's where I go wrong. You see, if it's on the floor, I'm gonna suck it up. Paper clips, money, carpet, nails, small pets, telephone cords, grandma...you name it, if it's in the way, it's goin' down that long tube to hell.

I've been told that's bad for the vacuum cleaner. Maybe so. The last one we had at work lived not even a year. Over that year we had a love hate relationship. It loved to spark and smoke and I hated to pull it out of the closet. I wasn't sad to see it go. It was probably glad to die. In the end, I think we both ended up happy.

This new one seems to be made of tougher stuff. I mean, I actually had to put the stupid thing together! With a screw driver! It took me an hour too, no thanks the instructions that appeared to be written in English but kept coming out in Chinese. What an ominous omen.

I have faith in my skills to destroy all appliances and things mechanical. The count down had begun and we'll see who laughs last--this new vacuum or me.

But enough about the vacuum cleaner. What I really wanted to talk about was my horrible experience--a life altering, mind damaging sight that will haunt me until the end of my days.

The Men's Toilet

I rarely go into the men's restroom at work. For those of you thinking, "Well, no shit, dumbass," I should point out that we don't have 'normal' restrooms. They're just a single room, one labled 'men' and the other labeled 'women'. No stalls, no urinals, nothing fancy like that. Just think of the bathroom you have at home, minus the shower/bathtub...or whatever.

I digress...

Anyway, since it was a cleaning day, I decided to mop the floor in the women's room. My boss returned, saw me, and asked me to do the men's room too. Normally, I don't do any cleaning in there. Walking into the men's restroom is like entering a dungeon of pestilence. I don't know why I agreed to it. I think an evil spirit entered me and took over all common sense and rational thought.

I found myself in the men's room, mop in hand. I began mopping, but it wasn't long until I felt a chill run up my spine. You know that feeling you get when you're being watched and whatever is watching you isn't up to any good? That blood chilling, tingly feeling, followed by this emptiness in your gut--that feeling. So I looked up, worried and nervous, and find myself staring at 'it'--the source of my unease.

The men's toilet loomed in the corner, a creamic off-white, with these big green stickers on the tank lid stating "1-800-Please Aim". Ironically enough, the bowl has streams of yellow grime running down it and there were stains all around the floor. Inside, a grey-black scum was forming along the water line.

It. Was. Disgusting.

I actually gagged. I gagged so hard I thought I was going to puke. How could --anyone-- stand to be within ten feet of that thing? Let alone piss in it? How could they sit their ass down on that thing to do #2, knowing that grotesque, disease ridden scum is just inches from their butt? Hello, flesh eating virus anyone? From what I saw, that looked like a prime place for it to lay in wait, and I don't know about you, but the last place I'd want to get infected with a flesh eating disease is on my ass!

I backpedaled out of there, yanking my bucket and broom with me, only to realize I'd already mopped around the floor near the toilet. That thought in mind, I tossed the mop and its germs to the floor, dropped the bucket of water and started yelling for my boss. He kinda looked at me like I was a silly, hysterical woman. I think if I wasn't so mad, he'd have gave me a pat on the head and told me to go play outside. Finally he said he'd make sure it got cleaned up and went back to whatever it was he was doing.

I still don't feel good about this. I mean, what if *my* bathroom breaks? I'm sure as hell not using that one, EVER. I'll drive myself to the store down the street before I set foot in there again. Even more, none of these guys I work with are 'messy'. If anything, they're all tidy people; at least two of them obessively so. So what the HELL is up with the bathroom? Does cleanliness stop at the bathroom door for guys? Please explain this to me! I know you all have to aim, but Jesus, the target isn't exactly small. And how hard is it to clean up if you dribble a bit. That's what toilet paper and paper towels are for!

No bathroom should look like it came right out of Silent Hill. That's just wrong. I'm shocked my boss never said a word about it, since he's such a neat freak. I mean, dust sends this guy into fits. How is piss not as bad a dust?

I'm not a neat freak--far from it. I'm not easily squicked by stuff either, but I draw the line at bodily fluids. Clean it up! It's not that hard. Sheesh...

Posted by Zoso at September 27, 2005 06:10 PM