We all poop. It’s a natural fact of life. It’s not pretty, and it certainly doesn’t smell nice. We can all get along a lot more easily at work if we can all follow a few simple rules when we need to have a bowel movement.
1.) Flush. I can’t emphasize this enough. If you flush, and there’s still ass matter in the bottom of the bowl, flush again. You’re not paying the water bill, and I’m sure the multimillionaires that own the company won’t mind a few more gallons down the toilet if it means the BM scraps won’t be staring at them when they line up to pee.
2.) Spray. Whether it be the generic Odor-X or the All Natural Citrus Spray or that nasty fucking peach-flavored Glades, spray SOMETHING. When I go to the bathroom to wash my hands after lunch, I don’t want to smell dead baby wrapped in burnt hair. I want to smell All Natural Citrus Spray with undertones of dead baby and burnt hair.
3.) WIPE YOUR SHIT STREAKS OFF THE BACK OF THE FUCKING SEAT. That shit’s nasty.
4.) Leave the light on. The fan won’t run if the light is off. This isn’t some fancy-dancy uppity bathroom. One switch, one fan, one light. They call it an exhaust fan for a reason. The way our bathroom is built into the building, Friday’s shit smells like a mass grave on Monday morning, if someone forgot to spread the lime on the mass grave.
5.) If you take the new Time magazine in the bathroom with you, please have the common courtesy to bring it back out. There are 10 Time magazines on the shelf above the toilet, none of which 95% of the people who work here have read because the magazines are piled up on the shelf in the men’s office crapper.
6.) Same goes for today’s paper.
7.) For the love of Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick, if you use the last of the toilet paper, put a new roll on the God damned dispenser. Paper out the bottom, please.
All of these SEEM like fairly simple requests. Alas, every single day I come to work, almost all of these simple requests are violated by the fucking plebeians with whom I work.
This past Saturday was my “Golden Birthday”. I went out with my Aunt Kris and her husband Bill, my Aunt Wendy and her husband Bunker (Not his real name, but he fits the name. 6′5″, 350#), and my mom and her boyfriend to Carrigan’s on 116 at the bottom of Germantown Hill. While it was something of a biker bar, the people were are really nice and the bar food was fantastic. Chad met up with us around 8. We arrived around 630 or 7, so by 930ish when we left my aunts were well on their way. Of course, before we left, they HAD to sing Happy Birthday on the karaoke machine, so that they did. The good thing about being humiliated by your tipsy aunts is that you get several free shots from strangers. I heart Misdemeanors.
After Carrigan’s, we went to Dolphin’s Cove, a fairly large bar on the river in Spring Bay, right by the EP Boat Club. Seeing as the weather was so nice, we sat/stood on the patio and enjoyed the breeze. While there, we met up with Bunker’s daughter Nicole and one of her friends. The only event of any consequence there was Wendy and Kris screaming the Happy Birthday song every time they felt the patio had gotten too quiet. This did not get old. At all.
We ended the night at the Country Saloon in East Peoria, which as anyone who has been there knows, is the Jewel of the East Peoria-Morton 150 Corridor. Once we were there, Tim, Sara, and I THINK Tammi showed up. While standing on the patio, we rescued a runaway Lab from certain doom by holding him on the patio until the owner showed up to collect. These are the things that happen at the Country Saloon. After several more shots and a few beers, I finally headed home around last call. Bunker had to drive my car, and Urt followed us to take Bunker back to the bar. Urt is so named because he likes to come screeching into the Country Saloon parking lot after driving drunks home, and URT is the sound his tires make. Forgive me if my onomatopoeia leaves something to be desired. I didn’t invent the name. Oh yeah, he only has one arm.
After all was said and done, it was the best birthday I’ve had for a long time, and I wouldn’t rather spend it with anyone else than my crazy family.