My Nemesis: The Toilet

I've noticed over the years in my fine workplace that the women are downright nasty-ass when it comes to the workplace bathroom. I don't know what it is about communal toilets and their sanitary state, but it would seem that we really do need someone stationed in the john in order to make sure that it's at least presentable. My floor, in particular, seems to suffer from a post-hurricane-flurry of toilet paper and paper towel bits on the floor to turds left behind in the bowl. And while the image of a floater left behind (really? You don't check for anything 'missed' in a communal bathroom?) is just downright nasty, it blows my mind as to how this could happen. When you look at most of the women who use the bathroom here, they are so well put-together on the exterior that you'd never imagine their Neanderthal bathroom habits. These same women spend hours putting on makeup, matching their tights, and wearing quasi-business suits in the office. Seems rather … odd … that they leave the bathroom meant for others as if it were their own personal trash can that they can shit in and forget about it.

Anyway.

I've never been a big fan of work's bathrooms because of the toilet paper holder: an evil metal device that can cut a pair of tights faster than a small boy can fart. It's positioned in such a way on the wall that I have no workable leg room to do my business. Hard to believe, but it's true when you're a tall gal and overweight. Your knees bang up against that stupid thing and you end up silently cursing a blue streak because, hello, no verbal cussing in a professional work environment (insert eyeroll). The cutting of Very Nice Expensive Dress Pants escalates the number of profane thoughts, too.

In my fine workplace's bathroom, out of 12 stalls, about 2 of them have the toilet paper holder above where my knee is, making it possible for me to take a shit in comfort and peace. One of them in particular, has a problem with the concept of "flushing". In an industrial bathroom where gallons of water are flushed away, you wouldn't think that this is a problem, but this toilet is my nemesis: it wants my hand to swish around in there, feeling its nether regions. No word of a lie.

But I think I've finally beaten this stupid toilet.

I now line the toilet bowl with as much industrial-grade toilet paper that I can manage. The t-p goes in and lines around, making a nice layer between the ceramic of the bowl and whatever I had for lunch that day. And what do you know -- it works! No more dipping and swishing. No more ice-cold hands from the cold water. Success! I check to make sure that nothing's left behind, and I save water in the process. Truly a win-win!

Of course, I figure that this industrial grade toilet is going to get me in the end because it will recognize that the way to make me wimper is to clog itself with my extra t-p. But until that happens, I ain't worrying about it.