Blog Archives

the Trail of Turds / 5 Simple Rules for Using Public Restrooms

this post was updated June 26, 2013 to include #5, as sadly, it was necessary

All right, we need to cover a few basics on where it is and is not acceptable to defecate.  I wish I had to specify ‘in public’ but given recent events, I’m forgoeing the qualifiers.

The most important point to understand is that I mopped up shit. Again. This was shortly after another person picked up shit from the salesfloor.  There was a trail of shit leading us across the store.  That was a new one. 

The cleaning up of human excrement occurs at least once a week per restroom, and from what I’ve heard, the nightmares I’ve survived are nothing compared to what goes on in the ladies’ room. Women, apparently, are filthy; from the unholy abstract art presentations some will create within a bathroom stall to the creative locations for disposing of used tampons—oddly enough, not in the container designed specifically and clearly labeled for just this purpose.

Is this what happens in your home? Is that how you use your own bathroom?  It isn’t.  I know it isn’t.  Not one of you people will leave a pile of used toilet paper on the floor behind the toilet, or smear your own feces on the wall so high you had to either jump or stand on the toilet.  I’m also going to assume that should the unfortunate occur and you happen to shit on the toilet rather then in it, at home, you have the decency to at least wipe the seat off.

But in public, these behaviors go out the window—behaviors that before I worked in retail, I assumed we had all learned as very small children, and so were ingrained in us to the point of being compulsory or almost involuntary.  But like so many behaviors we witness every day and even engage in ourselves, as adults we have lost the simple and basic common sense that children possess.  This new class of stupid is not limited to using a bathroom, but it seems a good place to start.

So here’s a few rules you need to follow if you’d like go out in public:

1. Defecate Only in Designated Areas

In our highly structured society, whether in public buildings or private homes, there are rooms designed for the sole purpose of defecation. These rooms go by many names, the most common of which are bathroom, restroom, and washroom.

In private homes these bathrooms will be unisex, meaning that men and women will use the same facilities. Men should take care in this regard in that the female is physically incapable of lowering a toilet seat; therefore after aiming carefully (or cleaning up should that not be the case) men should lower the toilet seat as a courtesy to their less physically capable counterparts.

In public buildings, restrooms will be divided into male or female. If you are a boy, please use the men’s room; if you are a girl, please use the ladies’ room. Each option will be clearly marked.

Places Not to Defecate: on the floor in the bathroom, on the floor outside the bathroom, on the floor, on the wall, on yourself, on each other, on the carpet leading to the bathroom, on the carpet, on your mother, in a garbage can, on a window ledge, in a stairwell, in a book, on a book, basically everywhere that is not a bathroom with a toilet.

2. Defecate Only in Specified Containers

In these rooms we discussed above, there will be a toilet and sink, with accompanying paper products, including toilet paper, paper towels and disposable toilet seat covers.

In the restroom there will be a stall, and within the stall a toilet. When one has the urge to defecate, this is your desired destination. The toilet or toilet bowl will have a seat and possibly a lid attached by a hinge that allows one to open and close the seat and lid. Ensure the lid is up and the seat is down before use. Defecate only when seated. Do not defecate prior to sitting. Do not stand or attempt to leave while in the process of defecating.

It is also very important to note that while we may use the phrase, “I’m on the toilet,” to indicate we are defecating, one must take care to defecate in the toilet, not on it.  Remember, one sits on a toilet, but one defecates in it.

In public men’s rooms there may be a urinal. These are intended only for urination—notice the similarity in its name and function? Not a coincidence—and therefore, should you need to go poo, please visit a stall and use the toilet as directed above. Under no circumstances should one defecate in the urinal.

More Places Not to Defecate: on a friend, on your car, in your car, at the dinner table, on the couch, on a stranger, in the corner, out a window, in a punch bowl, in your shoe, in your friend’s shoe, in any shoe, basically everywhere that is not a bathroom with a toilet.

3. Do Not Handle or Manipulate Poo

The toilet was designed not only to collect your excrement, but remove it as well. Careful examination of the toilet apparatus will reveal that it is connected at the base to a pipe. You will notice as well that at the bottom of the toilet bowl is an opening, which when one operates the handle on the back of the toilet, commonly known as “flushing”, will send one’s excrement through the hole and into the pipe, removing it to the sewer without any additional steps or effort on your part.

There is, therefore, absolutely no reason whatsoever for one to in any way handle their excrement.  Do not be confused by the presence of a garbage can in the restroom; this is for paper towels only.  There is no need to remove your feces from the toilet and place it in the garbage can.  Flushing the toilet will remove your feces both more efficiently and more hygienically.

While we have no doubt that you make very nice macaroni sculptures and creamer cup towers, there is no need to demonstrate your prowess as a sculptor by fashioning a proper 1:16 scale replica of yourself from poo.  Unfortunately, public restrooms are not equipped to maintain these sculptures and they will be destroyed.

Activities Not To Engage In With One’s Poo: touching, throwing, removing from bowl, smearing of on walls, floor or ceiling, fingerpainting, splatter painting, sculpting, the writing of witty platitudes, the leaving of your phone number, the leaving of your ex’s phone number

4. Dispose of Paper Products Properly

Within the stall of a public restroom, one will generally find two types of paper products. The first and most important will be toilet paper. The name can be misleading in that it is not meant for the toilet per se, but rather for your bum. After you have finished defecating but before you leave the stall, take a reasonable amount of toilet paper and clean your ass. This is known as “wiping.” After each wipe, drop soiled toilet paper into toilet bowl. Repeat until ass is clean.

As you may have noticed, and similar to your feces, toilet paper should be deposited only in the toilet bowl. There is no reason to place soiled paper products anywhere else.

The second type of paper product one may find in a public restroom stall is a seat cover. This is made of a thin paper and as the name implies, it is intended to cover the toilet seat in order to maintain and encourage good hygiene. As this disposable seat cover is made from a waxy tissue paper, when you have finished wiping you may deposit it into the toilet bowl as well. If you look closely, you will notice a pattern here: everything—excrement, toilet paper, seat cover—goes into the toilet bowl.

Places Not To Put Used Paper Products: in your pocket, on the floor, stuck to wall, stuck to ceiling, stuck to self, saved as a gift for significant other, put back in paper product dispenser, wrapped around handle to stall door, stuffed in shoes, garbage can

5. Do Not Engage in Activities Other Than Urination or Defecation

In addition to it being entirely unnecessary to carry on conversations on one’s cell phone while in the restroom, to ask employees about products, services or opinions on the weather while in the restroom, or eat or drink a meal while in the restroom, this additional point refers to engaging in other activities, bodily functions or personal needs not related to urination or defecation in a public restroom. 

Specifically, masturbation. 

Not only is this illegal but let’s all agree right here and right now, a public restroom is not the place for this.  Furthermore, one should not seek the assistance of products sold in the store in order to fulfill this need.  If you would like to use a nudie magazine or sexuality book in this process, or any other tool or implement or condiment, please first purchase said item and take that shit home.  Even furthermore, and it is with absolute shock, disbelief and disgust that this should even be said, if this act does take place:  clean it the fuck up.  Much like defecating, no trace of this act should be left on the floor, walls, ceiling, mirror or baby changing station for someone else to clean up.

Places Not To Masturbate: anywhere that is not your home.

In conclusion…

…if you feel you are unable or unwilling to follow these simple rules of basic fucking hygiene that you were taught as a child, please stay home.  If you are an adult who cannot clean up after yourself after engaging in this fundamental and biologically imperative act, despite being physically and mentally capable of doing so, you do not belong in public.  Accidents happen.  Defecating on the floor and smearing excrement on the wall are not accidents.

A simple rule to follow when using a public restroom is, “Would I do this at home?”  I’ll go out on a limb here and guarantee that ‘shit on the floor and leave it for the next person’ would not get a check in the ‘yes’ column.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Important Terms to Know for a Successful Poop:

Defecate — to void feces from the bowels; to shit; to poop; to drop a deuce

Excrement — a waste product from an animal’s digestive tract expelled through the anus during defecation

Feces — also faeces, stool, shit, poo, poop, number two, deuce, doodoo, dookie, doody, dung, scat, spoor, droppings; see excrement

Flush — the act of pressing the lever on the side of  a toilet to empty its contents

Toilet — sanitation fixture used for the disposal of human excrement and urine

Toilet Paper — a soft tissue paper product used to maintain personal hygiene after defecation or urination

Wipe — the cleaning of one’s anus or buttocks with toilet paper after defecation

Should any of the terms listed above come as a surprise to you or require further research on your part in order to fully understand their significance in your life as a full grown human being, fuck you.

 

 

The Autobiography of Kevin

Chapter 1

Monday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

After that I went to work.  Did some stuff there.

When I got home, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

When I emerged I made a quick, yet well-balanced dinner of instant mashed potatoes, instant stuffing and some kind of vegetable from one of those steamer bags, and a baked pork chop that had been thawing in a colander in the sink under a steady stream of warm water for the several hours I was pooping.

I inhaled my dinner in just under ninety seconds while I watched Sports Center, and paused before my now empty plate to catch my breath.  I left my plate and empty cans of Genny Cream Ale on the coffee table, and left the nineteen dishes and bowls I’d used to cook my dinner strewn about the kitchen.  There was no time to clean up, I had stuff to do, people to Facebook chat with, and farts to fart.

Later, I settled into my La-Z-Boy, beer in hand, to watch Sports Center for a several hours, despite there being only twenty minutes of actual information.  Perhaps it was the repetition of sports information that relaxed my sphincter as over the course of these several hours I farted an incredible five thousand ninety-seven times, beating my previous record.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Tuesday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

After that I went to work.  Did some stuff there.

When I got home, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

When I emerged I made a quick, yet well-balanced dinner of instant mashed potatoes, instant stuffing and some kind of vegetable from one of those steamer bags, and piece of baked chicken that had been thawing in a colander in the sink under a steady stream of warm water for the several hours I was pooping.

I inhaled my dinner in just under ninety seconds while I watched Sports Center, and paused before my now empty plate to catch my breath.  I left my plate and empty cans of Miller High Life  on the coffee table, and left the thirteen dishes and bowls I’d used to cook my dinner strewn about the kitchen.  There was no time to clean up, I had places to be.

Tonight was Man Night, the weekly gathering of a dozen or so friends in a crowded, disheveled attic, complete with pool table leveled out with coasters, a naked female mannequin, several televisions of debatable working conditions, a deep-fryer and a keg, kept snuggly in a refrigerator of debatable working condition.  A paradise this attic is, a true Eden for the group of young professions interested in drinking, debating the merits of the metric system, making fun of Dyke Lofer, a young man in possession of the honey-pot who frequents the Buffalo Club for no discernable reason whatsoever, and pissing out windows in front of which the aforementioned naked female mannequin was situated.

After I polished off half the keg I decided it was time to go.  The local police had stopped circling the block watching the house about an hour before, so it was safe to leave.

On my way home I stopped at this great sub place and ordered the Philly Cheesesteak, a fourteen inch log of grease sprinkled with meat.  When I got home I sat in my La-Z-Boy and inhaled my sub.  Once I had caught my breath, I farted.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 


Chapter 3

Wednesday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

After that I went to work.  Did some stuff there.

When I got home, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

When I emerged I made a quick, yet well-balanced dinner of instant mashed potatoes, instant stuffing and some kind of vegetable from one of those steamer bags, and piece of baked fish that had been thawing in a colander in the sink under a steady stream of warm water for the several hours I was pooping.

I inhaled my dinner in just under ninety seconds while I watched Sports Center, and paused before my now empty plate to catch my breath.  I left my plate and empty cans of Busch Lite  on the coffee table, and left the nine and three-quarters dishes and bowls I’d used to cook my dinner strewn about the kitchen.  There was no time to clean up, I had stuff to do, people to Facebook chat with, and farts to fart.

Later, I settled into my La-Z-Boy, beer in hand, to watch Sports Center for a several hours, despite there being only twenty minutes of actual information.  Perhaps it was the repetition of sports information that relaxed my sphincter as over the course of these several hours I farted an incredible six thousand twenty-eight times, beating my previous record.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

Thursday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

After that I went to work.  Did some stuff there.

When I got home, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

When I emerged I made a quick, yet well-balanced dinner of instant mashed potatoes, instant stuffing and some kind of vegetable from one of those steamer bags, and piece of baked chicken that had been thawing in a colander in the sink under a steady stream of warm water for the several hours I was pooping.

I inhaled my dinner in just under forty-five seconds while I watched Sports Center, and paused before my now empty plate to catch my breath.  I left my plate and empty cans of Icehouse on the coffee table, and left the twenty-two dishes and bowls I’d used to cook my dinner strewn about the kitchen.  There was no time to clean up, I had stuff to do, people to Facebook chat with, and farts to fart.

Later, I settled into my La-Z-Boy, beer in hand, to watch Sports Center for a several hours, despite there being only twenty minutes of actual information.  Perhaps it was the repetition of sports information that relaxed my sphincter as over the course of these several hours I farted an incredible six thousand one hundred and six times, beating my previous record.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

Friday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

After that I went to work.  Did some stuff there.

When I got home, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.  I had to cut my normal pooping time down today though, after all it was Friday, I had places to be.

I changed from my shirt and tie and my gray pants that may be too tight or may accentuate my bum just for the ladies—you be the judge—and put on my play-clothes so I wouldn’t get yelled at later.  I wore my plaid going-out shirt and rolled the sleeves up in a just-so casual kind of way.  Some people might think that shirt’s a little tight on me, but I think it’s just right.  I’ll let the ladies decide when I’m up on stage later at karaoke with my buddy Dave, totally making “Bye Bye Bye” our bitch.

Then I went out to the bar.  That’s where I drank.  While I was drinking I held a conversation with my former roommate Busse entirely in quotes from The Simpsons, Seinfeld and Family Guy, occasionally referencing the “Danger Zone!” and “meowschwitz” as well.

After we finished all the beer at the bar we left to meet up with Dave and some other cool dudes.  We sang some karaoke.  For our encore, me and my buddy Dave sang “Quit Playing Games with My Heart.”  We totally rocked that shit.

When we left we stopped at Mighty Taco on the way back to my apartment.

Once back home we fueled our sphincters on taco-taco-burritos and polished off the last of the Natty Ice.  Then Busse’s girlfriend called him and he was “in twouble,” since he’d told her he was on his way right home after work, which was eight hours ago, so he had to go home.   When he left I put on this movie, “The Ice Cream Man,” starring Clint Howard in a tour de force performance that was heinously snubbed by those pretentious flamers running the Academy Awards.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

Saturday

 

I woke up this afternoon.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.

I made some coffee.  While it was brewing  I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, while I drank my coffee I struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

Being Saturday and all I spent my day firmly ensconced in my La-Z-Boy watching SyFy Channel original movies.

Around halfway through “Octoyetisaurus vs Giant Squidapus in Cleveland” I had to poop.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

After that I went out to Wegman’s and picked up a sub, the quite tasty and vastly underrated Wegman’s Assorted with ham, turkey and roast beef.  I housed that shit and had a few Beasts, aka Milwaukee’s Best.  Damn right it is.  Then I burped and that bad boy rocked the house.  I thought the TV was going to fall off the wall.  It’s a really nice TV.  Then I farted.

After that, I settled into my La-Z-Boy, beer in hand, to continue my SyFy channel marathon.  Perhaps it was the utter stupidity of the movies or the 80s-pop-star/soft-core-porn/chick-fight in “Mega Python vs Gatoroid” that relaxed my sphincter as over the course of the next several hours I farted an incredible six thousand five hundred and thirty-two times, breaking my previous record.

Then I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7

Sunday

 

I woke up today.  As I was getting out of bed, I farted.  Then I went to take a shower.  One my way to the bathroom, I farted again.  I was done showering after a minute or two, as I am a notoriously efficient showerer, but stayed in for another ten minutes or so shooting snot-rockets against the wall.

Later, I made coffee, and struck a pose, holding my coffee cup just so in front of me while I watched TV in a manner that said, I have created this, and it is good.  And then I farted.

I was skited, or excited for you lay people.  You see, today was foozball day.

I turned on the TV.  It was still pretty early, only 9am, but I turned on to the Buffalo Bills pre-game show.  Since kickoff wasn’t until 1pm I left the room.  The sink was overflowing with dishes and the trash can had garbage piled up about six and half feet above the rim of the can, but instead I ignored all that nonsense and put a load of laundry in.  three hours or so later I moved that load to the dryer and put another load in the wash so that they’d be ready in four days when I finally went back to retrieve them.  Laundry really takes a long time, I don’t know how my mom would get it all done.

When I came back upstairs, I pooped.  It was heinous.  I refused to turn the fan on in the bathroom, as to pay proper homage to a poop such as that, one must bask in the toxic death that is its aroma.

A  little before one Busse came over with half a case of beer and some tacos.  There was still some Red Dog left so we were pretty well stocked up for the game.

When the game finally started I settled into my La-Z-Boy, beer in hand.  Perhaps it was the repetition of Bills’ turnovers that relaxed my sphincter as over the course of the next several hours I farted an incredible six thousand seven hundred and two times, breaking my previous record.  It’d been a pretty good week for La-Z-Boy farts, I’m hoping I can keep it up and crack 7k next week.  I’m feeling good, the sphincter’s feeling loose.

Then Busse’s girlfriend called.  She was back from yoga or picking up smokes from the Indian reservation or doing something else, and he was nowhere to be found, so he was “in twouble” again.   Since it was a horrible day for the Buffalo Bills anyway, he left.

I flipped channels from one football game to the next and watched ESPN so they could remind me about everything that had happened during the football games I’d watched, then I watched some cartoons.

Around ten  I fell asleep in my chair and started snoring.  I slept through the deafening and raucous chainsaw-like snoring but woke up when I farted.  I was afraid I may have pooped myself.  False alarm.

It was at this point I decided to go to bed.  Before settling in for the evening I made sure to crack my bedroom window, as I’ve often feared farting in my sleep so much I actually dutch-oven myself to death.

I certainly didn’t want to die in my sleep though.  Tomorrow was Monday, the start of another week, and I just couldn’t wait to do it all again.

 

BlackPast

BlackPast is dedicated to providing a global audience with reliable and accurate information on the history of African America and of people of African ancestry around the world. We aim to promote greater understanding through this knowledge to generate constructive change in our society.

Literary Birthdays Blog

Birthday Calendar for Authors

Friday's Thoughts

Cries. Laughs. Eats. Sleeps. Thinks we should live life like flowers do.

Adventures of a Bibliophile

REGISTER to VOTE - VOTE EARLY!

Milk + Beans

Spill it - you know you want to.

Narcissistic MIL

Life with a personality disordered mother in law.

Stories For All

Aspiring Writer. Short Stories. Poems.

The Griffin | Canisius College

The voice of Canisius College since 1933

%d bloggers like this: