I wrote this a while back for my friends, but I thought you'd appreciate a good rant today.
I'm a mild mannered guy. My levelheaded posts have been something of a safe-guard for the sanity of my friends who, sometimes, are pushed over the edge by heavy work schedules and class loads. Sometimes it becomes too much and they need my peaceful, low-key, and often soul cleansing posts to balance the ever weighty load of life's burdens that we all have to bear. Well, no more. NO MORE! About three weeks ago I was confronted with a situation that changed my view of something so natural, so second-nature to me that I'm having trouble sleeping at night.
SMU Campus. Sunday, October 9, 2005. 2:00PM.
Jorde and I have just wrapped up a lunch at the famed Balls Hamburgers in Highland Park, TX and wanted to walk around the campus that young Mr. Scott is studying the finer points of our judicial system and where I (if I'm lucky), next year will study Brand Management. To sum it up, we wanted to look at SMU girls. We're walking around campus, enjoying ourselves, when the standard "I just ate at Balls and now I have to get to a bathroom before I do something embarrassing" phase of the day hits. We look at each other, knowing the situation without saying a word, and head to the student center where we're sure that a loving stall awaits us both. We enter the welcomed air-conditioned building and grab a copy of the "Dallas Observer" for some much needed reading material for what promises to be a long, relaxing session of bowel relief.
The bathroom door opens up to a clean, happy environment. Jorde calls "shotgun" on the corner office (handicapped stall for you people uneducated in public stall lingo), and I take the spot directly next door. We're neighbors. We have a common bond of both having do perform the most embarrassing of our natural tendencies together. We're bonding.
I notice that the flush handle is missing and don't pay much attention to it because the stall at my last place of employment was equipped with the same, space-age technology of hands-free, bluetooth flushing. Alright, seat is a bit cold, but that will change. I get comfortable and settle in for a good ride. The comfort didn't last long.
*WHOOSH*
What the hell was that and why is my ass wet? Oh the flush went off, probably because I sat down, no big deal. I'll just be really still and try not to agitate the small, mythical creature that operates such a device.
*WHOOSH*
Damnit. It did it again. My ass is drenched. Jorde is laughing. Laughing so hard, in fact, he's begging me to make the flushing stop because he's having a hard time controlling himself. I was secretly hoping that he'd push too hard.
Eye of the storm, mid dump: I'm relaxed and enjoying the article on why you shouldn't piss your girlfriend off if you deal weed. These guys should win more journalism awards with such hard-hitting reporting. *WHOOSH* ****!!!!!!! Literally, ****, because some of my own has to have sprayed me that time. Now I'm getting angry. I'm remaining totally still, yet this toilet has declared jihad on my ass. Hyper drive...*WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* I'm not fvcking around here, literally four flushes in a row assault me while I'm wrapping up my session. It's hard to feel any shred of dignity when the crapper is courtesy flushing for you. My ass feels like I just ran naked through the sprinklers...not that I know what that is like...I promise...okay ONE TIME, but that's all...monthly... never mind.
Anyway, while I'm sitting there waiting to see if my gut has called in the reserves, it flushes three more times. At this point I've accepted my fate. Defeated by the auto-flush, I wipe. Not your normal wipe, because my cheeks are covered in toilet water.
To sum this up, Jorde's toilet flushed only once, when he stood to pull up his shorts. I, on the other hand, had a damp and angry posterior.
Peace.
I'm a mild mannered guy. My levelheaded posts have been something of a safe-guard for the sanity of my friends who, sometimes, are pushed over the edge by heavy work schedules and class loads. Sometimes it becomes too much and they need my peaceful, low-key, and often soul cleansing posts to balance the ever weighty load of life's burdens that we all have to bear. Well, no more. NO MORE! About three weeks ago I was confronted with a situation that changed my view of something so natural, so second-nature to me that I'm having trouble sleeping at night.
SMU Campus. Sunday, October 9, 2005. 2:00PM.
Jorde and I have just wrapped up a lunch at the famed Balls Hamburgers in Highland Park, TX and wanted to walk around the campus that young Mr. Scott is studying the finer points of our judicial system and where I (if I'm lucky), next year will study Brand Management. To sum it up, we wanted to look at SMU girls. We're walking around campus, enjoying ourselves, when the standard "I just ate at Balls and now I have to get to a bathroom before I do something embarrassing" phase of the day hits. We look at each other, knowing the situation without saying a word, and head to the student center where we're sure that a loving stall awaits us both. We enter the welcomed air-conditioned building and grab a copy of the "Dallas Observer" for some much needed reading material for what promises to be a long, relaxing session of bowel relief.
The bathroom door opens up to a clean, happy environment. Jorde calls "shotgun" on the corner office (handicapped stall for you people uneducated in public stall lingo), and I take the spot directly next door. We're neighbors. We have a common bond of both having do perform the most embarrassing of our natural tendencies together. We're bonding.
I notice that the flush handle is missing and don't pay much attention to it because the stall at my last place of employment was equipped with the same, space-age technology of hands-free, bluetooth flushing. Alright, seat is a bit cold, but that will change. I get comfortable and settle in for a good ride. The comfort didn't last long.
*WHOOSH*
What the hell was that and why is my ass wet? Oh the flush went off, probably because I sat down, no big deal. I'll just be really still and try not to agitate the small, mythical creature that operates such a device.
*WHOOSH*
Damnit. It did it again. My ass is drenched. Jorde is laughing. Laughing so hard, in fact, he's begging me to make the flushing stop because he's having a hard time controlling himself. I was secretly hoping that he'd push too hard.
Eye of the storm, mid dump: I'm relaxed and enjoying the article on why you shouldn't piss your girlfriend off if you deal weed. These guys should win more journalism awards with such hard-hitting reporting. *WHOOSH* ****!!!!!!! Literally, ****, because some of my own has to have sprayed me that time. Now I'm getting angry. I'm remaining totally still, yet this toilet has declared jihad on my ass. Hyper drive...*WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* *WHOOSH* I'm not fvcking around here, literally four flushes in a row assault me while I'm wrapping up my session. It's hard to feel any shred of dignity when the crapper is courtesy flushing for you. My ass feels like I just ran naked through the sprinklers...not that I know what that is like...I promise...okay ONE TIME, but that's all...monthly... never mind.
Anyway, while I'm sitting there waiting to see if my gut has called in the reserves, it flushes three more times. At this point I've accepted my fate. Defeated by the auto-flush, I wipe. Not your normal wipe, because my cheeks are covered in toilet water.
To sum this up, Jorde's toilet flushed only once, when he stood to pull up his shorts. I, on the other hand, had a damp and angry posterior.
Peace.
