Mar 07 2007
Eau De Commode II
Twice in one year (barely under the wire, though), I’ve been sitting perfectly innocently on a toilet, completing the final stages of that task, and looked down to see water flowing all around my feet.
And that’s after the earth-shattering kaboom.
Everyone knows that any part of going to the bathroom can be rushed, but the very last step definitely cannot. For that reason, Wednesday’s big trip to the men’s room turned eventful pretty fast.
I sit contemplating the quality of the supplied toilet paper as somebody flushes the urinal adjacent to my stall. A disheartening clunk later, I hear rushing water.
The water at first zig-zags ominously toward me in the grout ruts between the large industrial tile. I can beat that, I figure, so I don’t get in too much of a hurry. Then, the rivulets break their banks and water rushes over the tiles in sheets. My rehashing of generic versus brand name completely dissolves, and I work quickly to get out of there.
As I stand and reach to pull up my pants, my mobile phone rings. The urinal keeps effusing its contents as I’m forced to give up dancing around the water and begin stepping lightly in it. Rarely one to let a phone ring, I pull it from my holster and look at the caller ID. “Shannon” it reads. The last time I missed one of her calls, it was to tell me Ben had a 105 fever. Better take this one, I think as I hug the half-open stall door and slink around it to avoid the deepest water.
I flip open my phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe, you busy?” she asks.
“Um, I’m in the bathroom and it’s flooding, so I’m standing here holding my phone with my shoulder while trying not to splash in the water.”
Without a hint of hesitation, my lovely wife says, “Oh. Well, I was just calling to see if you think you’re leaving to come over here soon. We’re waiting to give Ben his bath.” She was at her mother’s and I was to take my home-packed lunch over there.
The urinal stops running. I step beyond it, to dry land near the sink. “Yeah, this was my last stop before leaving.”
“See you in a little bit.”
“Bye.”
After somewhat nervously washing my hands (it’s hard to trust water now), I go back to my desk and log a call with our help desk, which handles facilities problems, too. I prepare and print out a sign for the door so folks will at least know to be careful before entering the men’s room.
“Don’t call Noah. Somebody is on the way to fix the problem,” it reads. I tape it to the door and get on my way to see the family for lunch, top down in the beautiful 72-degree weather.
I was completely dry by the time I got to my car, which is more than I can say for my previous experience.
There is a reason why I keep a nice pair of dress black slippers in my bottom desk drawer. I would have to throw those shoes in the trash.
I hate having to do paper work under a time constraint I have no control over. Thats why I left my last job.
Poor Mark. I hope this experience isn’t going to deter you from future um, using- the- bathroomness.
*LOL* Luckily, I can honestly say I can’t remember that ever happening to me.. (maybe I’m blocking it out!).
Hey, weren’t you going to update us on Shan’s eyes???
Blitz - Now that’s planning ahead for the head (see how I threw in the Navy jargon for you?).
You know, until now I hadn’t thought about what’s on the bottom of my shoes after that. Ugh.
It hit me on the way into work — aren’t office restrooms supposed to have a drain? I think this one does, but it’s in the next stall over. I’m checking, though, because the seepage into the hallway carpet, not to mention a cubicle area, can’t be good.
Linda - Don’t feel sorry. Just laugh.
Dave - You must be blocking it out. It must happen to everybody at some point, or my twice in one year starts to look freakish.
I’ve been waiting on a Shannon eye update because she said she wants to do a guest post. I think she’ll write it over the weekend.
I didn’t think I’d start my Thursday by picturing you with your pants down, Mark.
That was a Marvin the Martian reference up near the top, right? I can do a pretty good impression of him, if I do say so myself. (Mel Blanc would shake his head, but I think it’s okay.)
“Where’s the kaboom? Where’s the Earth-shattering kaboom?!”
Simon - Hey, man, anything to help your work day go better.
Good catch on the Marvin the Martian reference. I, too, do an impression. I’m sure it probably isn’t very good, and it’s completely lost on my wife, who apparently never watched Looney Tunes or Merry Melodies in her entire life (freak).
Watch it, Buster! Who you calling a freak, bathroom boy?
Twice a year, eh? That seems high to me. I’ve heard of folks whose very presence can interfere with electronics and watches. Perhaps you have a similar effect on toilets. It’s probably not enough to get you on the X-Men team…but a clear mutant ability none the less. Maybe they could send you to spend some time near the enemy’s bathroom, hoping the baddies’ inability to use the facilities would give the X-Men an edge in battle.
I don’t worry too much about what’s on the bottom of my shoes. I just assume it toxic down there and try my best to keep my footwear out of my mouth. I take my shoes off when I enter my house, so my toxic trail stops at my entryway. I’m just not too worried.
On that note, however, I once worked with a guy who changed the toilet in every house or apartment he moved into because he was disgusted by the idea that others’ had used it. He managed one of our stores and I delighted in timing my visits to his store so that I could…”sully his porcelain.”
Shan - It did not escape my notice that a man who filmed himself reaching slowly into a sewer drain for a piece of trash he’s been obsessing about for months has just called his wife a freak…in a post in which he graphically describes his recent trip to the bathroom, no less ;)
Mark - Pay no attention to the paragraph above. We love you just the way you are and think you should hurl a few more insults at your lovely wife…cuz…well, cuz we’re voyeurs and like to watch sparks fly
I suggest a post on other things lost on our wifes. I must make 10 references a day so some obscure movie phrase or song or even a commercial from 1992, “Much like the pterodactyl.” Well, that one’s now so obscure, I can’t even remember what it’s from. But I know we said it a lot as kids.
Josh, I’m going to guess that you’re misquoting an old Little Caesar’s Pizza commercial where the guy behind the counter is a pizza box origami ninja. The customer across from him, lacking in salient cetaceous period background, could only stare dumbly at the corrugated wing-ed beast being held aloft by the minimum wage wizard and utter, “What’s that?”
To which the pizza-boy happily replied, “It’s a pterodactyl!” He then proceeded to wobble it up and down in a comical approximation of flight and croaked, “Waaaa! Waaaa!” in an onomatopeaic fervor.
(I could be wrong about that, but the memory was pleasant for me just now, so it doesn’t really bother me either way.)
*****
Moksha, that means Mark will need an appropriate X-Men superhero name. I’ll start:
Feculor
The Micturator
Scat-Man
Bung the Bung
My personal favorite is Scat-Man. Just so you know, this bathroom fixation of his is nothing new, folks. When we got married 15 years ago, he got a huge package of toilet paper as a gift at a couple’s shower we had (it lasted about a week). Let the mud slinging begin, Pookie!
Si - Scat-Man sound more like some hideous mutant with projectile poo attack. If Mark’s power is to hinder the enemy’s ability to go…I think he’d be more like Scat Scat or The Stopper. I’m picturing him saying to his nemisis, “It’s time for consti-payback, fiend!”
Shan - That’s a lot of toilet paper. Perhaps he’s making oragami pterodactyls with it. Just a thought.
Moksha - It seems I remember that story of your toilet-replacing friend. You ever post that somewhere else? If not, then I’ve got some seriously demented dejavu going on.
Hey! That’s my in as a superhero! Movies and television always conveniently avoid the need to go to the bathroom.
Cyclops: Where’s Wolverine?
Storm: He went to take a leak.
Cyclops: What’s with that guy? Jeez.
Feculor (me): Wait ’til you guys see the trick I just played on Wolverine.
Josh - I like that idea about posting references my wife doesn’t catch. Since I’m terrible at remembering things like that, I’ll just have to start writing them down as they happen.
Simon - Can’t say I remember that commercial. I did a Google search for “much like the pterodactyl” and got only 8 hits, so that probably wasn’t the exact quote. We’ll see if Josh replies.
I like the nicknames, and as you can see above, I like Feculor the best. Scat-man would work if I were good at each of the meanings. Problem is, I sound silly when I try to sing scat.
Wife - I guess I opened the floodgates on this one. The “freak” comment was just a lighthearted joke because of your distinct lack of morning cartoon knowledge. Don’t even know who “The Littles” are? That’s a travesty.
The funny part of the TP as a gift story is that the lady hands this huge, wrapped gift to us — the biggest one of the night (the gift, not the lady… well, actually… nevermind) and says, “Now, this one’s for Mark!”
I proudly grab the gift, but immediately notice it gives way to my grasp. I rip off the colorful wrap to reveal a package of 96 rolls of toilet paper.
Let’s see who’s laughing later in life when all of you folks have had five times the number of colonoscopies that I have. (somehow that word doesn’t look right. Charles, what’s the plural of “colonoscopy”)
One more thing — it lasted much longer than one week.
Why do the low-brow posts always lead to the longest and strangest comment threads?
Don’t answer that.
Simon - Because folks like you whip out phrases like “onomatopeaic fervor” in your comments to kick it back up a notch.
Or, maybe it’s because everybody keeps topics like this bottled up inside and then explode when it’s broached.
This comment may indirectly answer your question, Simon.
I’ve been given two paths here. I could respond to the onomatpeaic fervor and write a well structured comment about the the intellectual wit shown on even Mark’s “low brow” posts. I am instead going to giggle that he said “everybody keeps topics like this bottled up inside and then explode when it’s broached” on a comment thread about poo. Hee Hee. Explosive Poo!
It really is a sad state of affairs, Si.
I couldn’t even read all these (with the exception of Shan’s)
Written-From-Work damn comments. I got as far as Simon’s *first* reference to “It’s a pterodactyl” and recognized it from the scene in Airplane where the gooney guy in the control tower is making things out of paper. This could be before or after Lloyd Bridges loses it…
How do you people get any work done??? I bust my ass for 8 hours a day (9 next week) and only touch a computer as I’m punching in and out. Sheesh. Yeah, I’m jealous.
Oh Mark, why did you have to bring up colonoscopies? You are even more anal that I originally thought. ;- P
Ah, I think Gren has the right of it. Moksha would have stuck with a more cerebral reply, but the Gren goes with explosive poo. It all becomes clear so quickly.
(Linda, either we’re all very efficient and comment around appropriate work tasks, or we get very little work done. You decide. Because I’ll never tell.)
I’m not sure there is a plural for that, but if there is one, I think you have it.