The lesser of two evils

If you're desperate enough, sometimes you've got to make some pretty difficult decisions. Some examples are whether or not to eat another person if stranded on a desert island, whether you're happy to try that little bit of milk in the bottom of the bottle because it's the last one, and finally and most importantly, which cubicle to take in a toilet.

Desperation is key to making split-second decisions, and defines just how much of a gamble they can sometimes turn out to be.

For example, take my situation the other day. I was busting, and I mean literally rupturing my bladder, for a pee. So off I dash to the toilet, fit to burst.

I storm into the gents only to be met by a green cloud of noxious fumes that could only be the product of someone else's emotional trauma some minutes previous.

The sheer stench is unquestionable. What is questionable however, is which cubicle is emitting it.

Time is short. You're unable to pause for thought. It's not possible to think, even if you had the time because one hundred per cent of your brain power is concentrating on keeping the flood gates closed.

So you make a decision. Or rather, I made a decision. And boy did I regret it.

Toilet seat warmers

I just can't understand it.

Why the hell would you want a warm toilet seat?

Allow me to elaborate.

I think my fear of warm toilet seats stems from being in some sort of queue for a toilet cubicle and seeing the guy who was just in there make a swift exit. Perhaps he's mopping his brow a little from the strains of the movement endured, or maybe he's got a smug grin on his face because he knows you're now entering the zone of punished porcelain.

Either way, you're aware that cheeks previous have touched that toilet seat. Your awareness is re-enforced when your own cheeks touch the seat and the warmth of that previous person and other previous people's stay is still escaping the seat and now touching your cheek-skin.

Why would you want to party to that? More importantly, why would you want to replicate that feeling with a toilet seat warmer?

Hear me now people. Cold seats are winners.

Door locking policy

Our toilet doors at work have a look that it is impossible to determine the locking status of.

You twist a little know either clockwise or anti-clockwise which'll either lock the door, or unlock the door. There's no "Engaged" sign, nor is there a visible bolt that'll determine upon seating whether you're safe or not.

So, if you're anything like me and you're completely absent-minded, you'd better be bloody sure you've locked the door before you drop your trousers.

Due to the lack of "Engaged" sign, you'll find that most people will probably give the door a go before trying the next one. You hear them shuffle around upon entry, and you'll see the handle go down, then back up, then you'll hear them try the next door.


The reasoning for my fear goes back to when I went for a pee one day a few months back. I went in, locked the door, took a pee, and then exited the toilet without having to unlock the door. Turned out I hadn't locked it in the first place.


In summary:

Double-check the toilet lock, or it'll stick in the mind of you and your voyeur(s) for the rest of your collective days.

You'll never get over it, and neither will they. You have been warned.

Just one look at you

"... and I know it's gonna be a lovely day."

A Bill Withers song that couldn't be farther removed from the truth yesterday, although I wasn't looking at anybody in particular to quantify that song having some meaning to me.

I woke up feeling cold and tired, and went into the bathroom for the morning pee. When handling the toilet roll, it falls out of my hand, and straight into a toilet bowl now filled with urine.

Great start.

Off I go downstairs for some breakfast. Did I miss the bowl with both cereal and milk? You betcha.

In the three minute walk from the car to the office, I manage to get attacked with approximately three-hundred gallons of water due to the torrential rain.

I then spend most of the day concentrating on one small part of what should've been an already simple task. I look at the clock, and it reads 10.00am. I look at some work, and look back. 1.00pm. Hardly any ground has been made. I look again - 5.30pm and I have to get home.

Sometimes you know from the outset that your day isn't going to be filled with accomplishment, and it's not always your mindset that convinces you of this. It's the fact that you dropped a toilet roll into a toilet full of pee.

A fear like no other

Office toilets are usually assigned one for a dozen people anyway, so it's no suprise if you walk into the gents and find that all are currently occupied.

Easy methods of spotting occupation are:

• If the door is closed
  
• Checking for the "Occupied" sign on the lock of the door.
• Looking at the lock-side of the door and seeing if the bolt of the lock has been pulled across.

Not that difficult to spot. If the door is closed and one of its following conditions are met, you can just go ahead and come back in five minutes.

This strategy isn't for everyone however.

Our office toilets are quite cramped, and with each cubicle, when seated your knees are no farther than six inches from the door. It's very up-close and personal.

You and that door become firm friends. A bond is formed when you realise that there's only your woody friend between you and utter humiliation.

This forged bond was to be put to the test just yesterday.

When sat on the toilet minding my own business, somebody opens the main toilet door with such force and brutality, it fills my heart with an instant sense of dread.

The ape then storms through to the first cubicle clearly in a rush, and attempts to open the first door to my left. No dice. There are only two doors. I'm next.

The suspense is killing me as Allan the ape then nearly rips the door handle off trying to get into my cubicle.

My face is no more than ten inches away from the handle itself.

Woody is holding steady, but still Allan tries harder. Woody starts to creak. Allan assumes that even though the occupied sign is clearly in place, it's not occupied and that the lock must be stuck.

I am frozen with terror as Woody holds his ground, and eventually Allan retreats back into whatever tree he came from.

Check the lock first, you spoon-fed.

The schoolboy error

I commit a few errors of a schoolboy nature, but I thought that this one deserved the label about as much as any other error I've made.

As I have described in many other posts, our office building has a communal toilet consisting of 3 stalls. It's very intimate, and on occasions, very crowded.

One day, I walked into the toilet to be greeted by the most hideous stench coming from a newly vacated stall.

Without even thinking about the consequences, I exclaimed "Jesus Christ! That's disgraceful!".

I hear uncomfortable shuffling, and look to my left to see that one of the other stalls is occupied, and the occupant clearly believes that my comment was directed toward him.

I wasn't hanging around to cope with the awkward silence at the sink situation, so left sharpish.

You get the idea though.

The morning pee

It's one of those things cherished by man since time began. I myself feel like my day has begun after dragging my knuckles in a caveman-like fashion into the cold tiled floor of the bathroom and expelling some urine.

The trouble with the morning pee is that it's inevitably strong, and by the time you're finished the toilet bowl is an entirely different colour to when you started. Bright yellow / orange is not uncommon.

It was only last Saturday that I indulged in the usual past-time of going for the morning pee, and in the usual fashion (Ladies may or may not be aware of this, and dudes may or may not do it) I grab a bit of toilet paper to ensure a dry appendage and prevent cough leakage. cough

Unfortunately, today's morning pee was to be anything but routine. I finished the pee, and reached for the toilet paper as I do every other morning, except that this morning produced radically adverse results.

I knocked the toilet paper without actually picking it up.

The roll isn't a full roll, but it's got a fair bit of paper left on it, and it'll go for the rest of the weekend between a family of five.

It's tilting forward, and all I can do is watch utterly dumbstruck and numb as the toilet paper teeters over the edge of the cistern, and tilts toward the edge.

I watch in slow motion as the roll falls from the cistern and bounces around the toilet seat, almost teasing me. It circles the toilet seat before rolling off of the seat, and into the bright yellow / orange bowl.

A conscious look of horror engulfs my face as I realise what is taking place.

I am given an ultimatum.

I can either reach in and get it now, or I can watch it disintegrate and block up the toilet, causing even worse results.

The choice is a simple one. I reach into the urine-infested toilet and drag out the (now yellow) toilet paper, rinse it under the sink to rinse it off, dump it in a bin-bag, and take it outside.

A loo roll, and my confident ability to flush out the morning pee are now both dead.

Sometimes you just know that your day isn't going to work out.