There Is No “Rest” in the “Restroom”

Public relief facilities or private relief facilities that are available to the public are of gargantuan importance in my life. There, I said it. I would be tethered, nay imprisoned in my home if it were not for these public service areas.  I would never bash these places that allow me to travel the world without wearing adult diapers. However, why do we refer to them as “restrooms”? I have visited some of the best and worst of these facilities throughout the world, and while I have found relief and sometimes comfort in them, I have never found rest.

When I was young, I took issue with what I called “peak-a-brats”. These are the small children who run around looking through all of the gaps around or under stall doors at you while you are engaged in activities of desperation. They can often interrupt the stream of concentration and be very annoying. I became much more tolerant when I had my own children and could not leave them or send them on their own. Furthermore, I have very fond memories of taking Morgan to the small lounge area in Dillard’s where we would take a few minutes to have a little tea party. Who would not want to use the Tampax machine for the pretend Coke machine?

I know that through the years women have needed a place to freshen their makeup and powder their noses. It is not polite to do that in public. However, nothing irritates me quite as much as those who completely camp out in the restroom even going so far as to plug in curling irons or straighteners and block sinks that are needed for hand washing. We are supposed to hold back on all things unladylike until we reach the sanctuary of the restroom when possible. Many facets of waste and phlegm elimination are terribly undignified and, while they are crowd pleasers in a movie with “beer” or “fraternity” in the title, they are not as well-received by the general public, especially if your name is not Schumer or Galifianakis. When you rush into a facility burdened with the pressures of time and intestinal distress hanging on to the last vestiges of dignity by a quickly failing sphincter muscle, the last thing you want is an audience of teen or pre-teen girls brushing their hair while watching Youtube makeup tutorials and tweeting to their crushes. And when you cannot curb the indelicate sounds that escape the body that betrays you so regularly (or irregularly without Metamucil), you must endure the humiliation that goes with knowing the comments and giggles are about you and not the cute cat video in play on an iPhone 7 as you ran into the stall.

I have seen the writing on the wall, and admittedly, I have read a great deal of it. I do not know if Hemingway, Faulkner, Yeats or Shakespeare began legendary writing careers on outhouse walls. I want to go out on a limb and say that they did not, but I cannot be certain. I suppose that before Facebook and Twitter, stall walls were the only places that one felt free to exercise the second amendment with such an unbridled lack of couth. I have often wondered why people write what they do while they doo, but they do and in what I call a crappy lack of good moral code, they bring into question other peoples’ lineage, mothers, ethnicity, religion and sexual orientation. I can somewhat understand advertising: how else would we know who to call for a good time and what all services might be offered by this apparent jack of all trades, including the oldest profession? I have to admit, though, that I am still confounded by those who wish to prove they exist or leave a notification trail of places they have visited. Once they post their Disneyworld photos on Instagram the world will know, and a picture with Mickey has to be better than your name inked above a broken toilet, doesn’t it? Perhaps they have been kidnapped and this is to help the FBI return them to their families.  That could be a plausible explanation. Then again, animals do mark their territory by urinating or defecating, and a signature just adds a bit of panache to it.

Do you remember in Titanic or The Way We Were or Gone with the Wind when the most famous couples of all time declared their undying love and devotion to one another by scribbling it above a soiled commode ripe with odiferous skid marks? Neither do I. That is all.

Finally, we should not have to process a person’s poor choices with his or her poor literacy. People, please! In order to describe anatomical features, sexual acts, and/or proclivity for any combination thereof, one should have to spell correctly and use proper grammar. My revulsion to behavior is only surpassed by my indignation at the lack relationship between education and real world application. Such a travesty!

As I lament that there is no “rest” in restrooms, I confess that I thought about increasing my readership tenfold by hanging excerpts of my blog on the back of stall doors like they do with ads in truck stops and health and study tips in college. By the way, I have had some hilariously awkward conversations with strangers in public stalls. A person enters a stall near me and begins talking to me, and although I am somewhat perplexed by the vein of the conversation, I answer as best I can only to find out later that the person is speaking with someone else on a cell phone. Remaining germane to the topic, I cannot decide if I am em-BARE-ASSED or relieved.

Monty Python and I Don’t Like Spam!

 

Do old, white Christian women get recruited for ISIS? I think I might have just received an invitation via comments on this blog to join them, but I am not sure. I know I was offered a Russian mail order bride and a lifetime supply of Viagra without a prescription.

I had not visited this blog site for quite some time. My excuse is that I have been busy (no, I have been busy, really). Anyway, I got the e-mail saying that I would soon have to pony up to keep this website, and so I thought I would look again to see if it was worth it. Hopefully, I dreamed that someone out there had read it and wanted to put an advertisement on it so I could pay for the domain and user name. Excitement was difficult to contain when I opened it to see that I had around 720 comments or pieces of feedback. I had received a few before that were spam, but they seemed fairly pertinent: you know someone had seen my site and was offering to spruce it up and get more traffic to it, for a fee, of course.

Those first couple were kind of exciting until I noticed that they said something like, “Your sight is very helpful to me. But it could use more viewers.” Hhhhhmmm…not that I don’t think I am “helpful”, but I started to see that those offering services had not actually read anything. They were just sending out advertisements, lots of them. The excitement vanished, and I had to accept that the three people reading what I wrote did not wish to purchase anything.

In spite of that, I was still optimistic as I opened my messages. No, there was nothing there that offered me anything of monetary value. But I have to say I learned so many interesting things about myself today:

  • I cannot read Cyrillic script (and I fear the translation)
  • I do not wish to meet a 19 year old virgin, even if she is described as “very nice”. Moreover, if one came into my office, and I told her not to have sex until she is married and not to get pregnant, then I can almost guarantee with my track record that she would go right out and do all of that. (That is how incredibly effective I am as a counselor!) So I would say she should definitely stay where she is!
  • As stated earlier, I do not need a bride, no matter the nationality. I would like a housekeeper, but I do not wish to bring her from another country and get through all that awkwardness of teaching her English.
  • I do not actually know what a “Shemale from social media” is, nor do I want to find one or more, but by all indications, they must be very popular.
  • I do not want to check out a website that has Russian Lean Cuisine recipes for every day, and what in the world is that code for? It was offered several times in several different ways.
  • Sadly in a testimonial to the current human condition of depravity, hundreds of messages offer porn or gay porn, and quite frankly, just the word “porn” makes me nauseous. I don’t even want someone typing that near my domain.
  • After a few months of this, I might be able to translate chatter for Homeland Security. This is an actual message I received, “Whenever I visit the Mug up is quickly be Cells can be trigger Now where Yosmite get help from top.” I have occasionally had to use Google Translate for something in Spanish, but even that was close enough to be decipherable. I am channeling my inner Bletchley Circle to break this bizarre code, but it is not happening yet. I will keep you posted.
  • The best message I got was “I enjoyed your website. Buy Cialis today. Confidential.” Someone enjoyed my website!

Do you remember when Spam was the gelatinous ham product that stunk up the kitchen when you fried it? #spam #funny #blog #learnsomethingnew