I’m sitting comfortably. Relaxed. Feeling at peace. I have all the leg room I could ever need. I have plenty of privacy. No-one can bother me. But, if I need assistance, at my fingertips I am able to summon it. The power I have right now is enthralling. Within arms reach I have all the amenities that I could ever need. It’s so clean, so comfortable and is that roses I can smell?
The only thing missing is relaxing music. If only I could hear Orinoco Flow by Enya right now. Perhaps I should pull this chord and ask for assistance? But I’m not sitting in first class. I’m sitting on the disabled toilet at work.
Can you blame me? Why would you want to sit in economy when you’ve got first class right there?
But you can’t blame me really when you’re dicing with death going for a poo in the gents. They don’t flush well, you might be in a race against time to pull your pants up, leave the cubicle, wash your hands and get out before the toilet overflows after being blocked because you’ve used extra toilet paper to create the paper throne.
That paper barrier makes all the difference you see. It makes you feel protected. That line of defence between your arse and the seat which 5 minutes ago came into contact with someones fat, sweaty, spotty and extremely hairy arse. But sometimes even the paper’s not enough and you just have to leave the cublicle as soon as you enter because you never know what surprise could be waiting for you. A blockage, a “dancing bear” that someone has left behind or perhaps something unnerving that has been left behind on the seat. How does that happen? How does someone miss that great big gaping hole in the middle of that plastic seat?
If it is safe and you sit yourself down, you may find yourself noticing a new appearance on the sides of the cubicle or the door. I’m talking about the multiplication of bogeys. This has been a regular occurrence at the last three companies I’ve worked at and so I’ve come to the conclusion that there are many men who like to sit on the pan, pick their nose and after routing around up their nostrils for a few minutes, wipe their findings on the wall or the door. I bet they even have a little giggle to themselves after doing it. Why would they do this when there’s toilet paper right next to them? It’s beyond me.
Then you’ve got people disturbing you. They might even come and sit in the cubicle next to you. I love my privacy and this just spoils it. I can’t relax and go knowing that there’s someone next to me, literally inches away squeezing one out! I’ve been in situations of complete stale mate where I’ve been sitting there, someone has come into the cubicle next to me and we’ve both frozen. Nothing happening but the uncomfortable silence for minutes.
And you can’t let them know it’s you either! There’s an unspoken code of secrecy about pooing at work. You have to be sure that you leave (after washing your hands of course) before the other person is finished so you both maintain anonymity. Although it only takes someone entering the loos whilst you’re washing your hands to say hello and then your cover is blown. They know you but you shall forever wander who they are. Just like the masked magician.
Yes, work toilets are disgusting things but it’s not only confined to the gents. I’ve heard horror stories about the ladies loos too! The fairer sex can also miss that gaping hole in the seat it would seem.
The disconcerting thing is that you work amongst people who would leave the loo in that state, miss the seat, wipe bogeys on walls and you don’t know who they are. They could be the person working right next to you. The person making you coffee or the person conducting your pay review. You’ll never know.
Would it be such a bad thing for a PSI team to be employed? Poo Scene Investigators. They could make a documentary about it for BBC 3. Or maybe a dramatisation for late night Thursday viewing on Sky 1. In HD! PSI Milton Keynes. Hey, I think i should get working on the screen play.
Grissam: What have we got?
Nick: We’ve got a skid mark….. On the wall.
Grissam: Get the swabs!
So why not wait until you’re home and in the comfort of your own bathroom? That is simple to answer. There is nothing more satisfying than getting paid to poo. To stick it to the man, knowing that you’re earning whilst sitting there, using their paper and wash facilities. It’s liberating and so satisfying that you can think, “I’m sitting here instead of that bloody desk, doing my thing and you Mr boss man are paying me for the pleasure.” Because it’s a natural bodily function, they can’t do a thing about it! Unless you spend a considerable amount of time in there.
And so running the gauntlet of disgusting sights, smells, sounds, dysentary and embarrasment are all avoided by using the disabled toilet. With it’s own soap, sink and hand dryer it’s like having your own en suite. Let’s not forget that hand rail which doubles up as a great stress rail for those strenuous times!
In fact, come to think of it, I’ve never come across a disgusting disabled toilet. Therefore, based on my study, I’m going to throw a thought out there and say that people with disabilities are generally cleaner than people without. Controversial, I know. But I bet I’d have preferred a poo during the Paralympics than the Olympics!
I hope this is a valuable education into the complexities and finer points of this very serious subject matter.
Oh and the picture of Bowie is completely irrelevant.