Often times these hellish experiences mark us for life, and we learn a lesson the hard way.
Not much of that applies to the following story, but I feel that it is as good a lead-in as any.
Last night, I had class. As I've mentioned before, I have class in a high school at night. It was about 10 minutes before class, and suddently I felt an impending intestinal requirement.
I had Chipotle for dinner, and my body clock had been off kilter ever since I had to cover something early Tuesday morning. So I had to go.
I went down the hall to the bathroom closest to the main entrance for the school. And what I found shocked and appalled me.
As you walk in, the wall to my right had the trash can, as well as two sinks. Pretty normal right?
Right.
The wall to my left had two sit-down toilets, and then three urinals. Sound right? Sure, except for the fact that there were no stalls. The sit-down toilets were just out in the open, separated from each other by a three-foot high partition.
I have never seen such an atrocity in my life.
How dare you not cover the shitters? How does anyone ever take a dump there?
No wonder high schoolers are so fucked up these days. There must be gang-rapes a-plenty.
I don't consider myself an overly sensitive person when it comes to male nudity. I take showers in the gym all the time, often surrounded by chiseled 20-year-old soldiers. Uhh...forget about that last part.
I played baseball in high school, and I used to shower with a bevy of naked men every morning. It didn't bother me.
Maybe it's the fact that I liked sharing my eight inches (or centimeters, I always get those mixed up) with the world.
Note: At the risk of spoiling the previous joke, eight centimeters equals a little more than three inches.
It's just not something that bothers me. But shitting in front of people, that's another story. There is no time when a man is more vulnerable than when his pants are around his ankles and concentrated evil is coming out of his backside.
I think every student in that school must have intestinal issues. Because when I was in high school, I took at least one dump in school a day. And I would never do that if I had gone there.
But, I reasoned, maybe I could find another bathroom, one that wasn't so maniacal in design.
With the clock ticking (seven minutes and counting...) I found a bathroom near the library. Which, incidentally was called "Michael Hall." If I had some spray paint, I definitely would have added the word "Anthony" to the top of the sign.
I got into the bathroom and lo and behold, they had a handicapped stall. If they required you to be handicapped to use the stall, I would have crippled myself at that point.
I went in the stall, sat down, and did my dirty, sinful business. With mere minutes to spare, I reached to my left for some TP, and the sight that greeted me was among the worst sights known to man:
Bare cardboard. What was once surrounded by beautiful, life giving toilet paper, now had been exposed to the world as nothing but an unusable shell. God help us all.
What is a young man in my position to do? Use my freshly laundered shirt? Go sockless for the rest of the evening? The dreaded five-finger poopywhistle?
As a fellow human being, I hope you empathize with the position, and know that not cleaning it up is not an issue.
In the battle between dignity and a shit-filled asshole, dignity doesn't stand a chance. Write that down.
So I decided to take a calculated risk. By standing, pulling up my boxers, and holding my pants around my waist (but not buttoning the waist), I could attempt to waddle to the sink and try my luck at the roulette wheel known as the paper towel dispenser.
I could leave the sanctity of my stall, not knowing whether the promise of glorious, paper towel-related satisfaction was a false one.
If someone to walk in during those few precious moments, all would be lost.
And by lost, I mean that I would have immediately given up on my dream of dying with dignity, and tried to hang myself with my belt in the stall, and hope the same janitor that carelessly allowed the toilet paper to run out would be the one forced to cut down my shit-filled asshole corpse.
But callooh, callay! There were paper towels, and like the hermit crab after feeding, I was able to make my way back into the stall safely.
This was the fist time I had ever used those brown, rough, school paper towels for that. Sandpaper would have felt better. Well, fine grained. I'm not too sure about that coarse-grained stuff. That stuff is a wild card, at least when it comes to using it as toilet paper.
But I digress.
Not to get too graphic, but the experience was weird, for two reasons. One, paper towels don't have the same....uh.. shall we say.....picking up ability? Let's leave it at that.
Second, you wouldn't believe how strange it is wiping with paper that is more than double the width. The possibilities are endless.
And I was doing fucking origami in there. I was almost finished creating my fleet of brown striped swans, when I glanced at my watch. Class was starting.
So I decided to abandon my flock, and I gave them each a full viking funeral. Now, I know you're not supposed to flush paper towels down the toilet, but I figured the same janitor that would clean up any potential overflow would be the same prick who didn't refill the TP, so I didn't feel too bad.
Although, now that I think about it, it's possible that the toilet paper had been used up, considering it was the only covered toilet in all the land, it must get its fair share of use. Oh well.
So there you have it. A brush with disaster, only to emerge triumphantly.
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