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May 26, 2009 / merlisser


I do not like public restrooms. In fact, you could say that I have a slight fear of them.  You know know when you open up the door, what you are going to find.  Also, you never know what is going to happen when you pull the little flush lever. Also, you never see a plunger lying around in public restrooms either.

But sometimes, you gotta go.  This was the case en route to Riverfest.  I stopped at what will be known as an unnamed location en route.  This place has tasty snacks and is usually very clean.  I noticed that the ladies restroom had an “out of order” sign on the front door and since this is a one toilet per restroom set up, I decided I was going to be a man for 10 minutes.

Y’all. The mens restroom is not like the ladies at all. Somehow the bowl of the white porcelain sink had been stained to a very scary looking beige color.  It was scary.  Then… OH LORD. Apparently all was not right with the toilet.  It appeared to have pap towels in the bowl.  I had no where else to go. My bladder was screaming.  So I decided to hover, not flush, and tell the cashiers that something is wrong with that bathroom.

So I do just that and as I stand up, I hear this click. I turn around to realize it is an automatic flushing toilet.  I then hear this bubble forming like the bowels of hell just farted.  This moment still seems to me in slow motion even though it was only two seconds.  I watch the bubble as it comes from the bowels of hell to the surface, then I see the water rise and then…




I quickly pick up my borrowed from someone else messenger back so it won’t be tainted by the hell stew and run outside.

It’s quiet and pleasant just like any old store.

I go to the front to pay for my beverage. There are two people at the cashiers.

I state, “excuse me but there is a problem with the restroom.”

One of the cashiers rolls her eyes and says, “we’ll get to it when we caaaaaaaaaannnn” I can’t properly write out the whine combined with a Southern drawl that turned a three letter word into fifteen syllables. You’ll just have to use your imagination.

I looked at Miss Thang with her hand on her hip and her eye rolling and her “how dare you tell me to do anything than sit my butt up here behind the counter” countenance and I paid for my beverage and walked out of undisclosed location.

For any persons who managed to come upon the bathroom from hell between the time Miss Thang pulled that spoiled brat stick out of her butt and actually did her job cleaning up that shit, I’m sorry.

For Miss Thang. Well she who lives by slinging the shit, dies by cleaning it up.

or something like that.

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