Saturday, July 23, 2005

Definitely not a blonde

It's a given, you're bound to see something you're disgusted with whenever you use a toilet other than your own. Case in point; today at work after lunch, I had the sudden urge to use the facilities. It was #2 (Damn those tacos!) Thankfully, I have with me the latest Out magazine (damn that Graham Ackerman is a hottie) to help me pass the ummm time. So off I go. As I posted before, we have two sets of bathrooms (for both sexes); one set is found in the office proper where more than one person can be doing their business, and another set located in the warehouse where there is space for one occupant. I tend to use the one in the warehouse for obvious reasons.

Immediately upon entering, I had the sudden realization that someone at work has a nasty sense of humour. On the toilet seat sat a clump of pubic hair ball. I'm not kidding, it was a BALL. At first, I thought maybe it was an orgy of daddy long legs fucking on the toilet seat but upon close inspection, it was confirmed by my own eyes that it was in fact made up of extremely curly pubic hair.

What to do? The genius in me thought, what if I open the bathroom door vigorously creating pockets of air waves then maybe I can fluff the floss-down-under into the bowl. Some temps were walking by and started giving me these looks probably wondering what kind of place did their agency put them to work at. Gave them a smile and a wave. Told them that I wasn't playing tag with the toilet. They just smiled back nervously. So I lied, told them there was a bee. Which relaxed them some what and kept on walking. I ended up fanning my mag over the darn thing, yet still the clump sat vigilantly never loosing its grip on the throne. My stomach then reminded me why I was there in the first place. Grabbed a large amount of toilet paper and proceeded to wipe the seat (making sure to catch the hair clump) and flushed the toilet. I then sprayed the seat with Lysol, wiped it dry, laid down a toilet seat cover, and proceeded to do my thang.

Back at work, I kept eye contact whenever I spoke with a male co-worker in hopes of catching the guilty party. Maybe I can give out a vibe saying that I know what they left on the toilet, then maybe he would pour out his confessions and beg for my forgiveness. Nope, it didn't work.