Where No Man Should Have to Go Again

There are certain unspoken rules that the world runs by. Pretty basic things that you try to live around, like don't eat food you find on the sidewalk. Or, don't send email with your credit card info and social security number.

One of those rules got broken this weekend. The one that states, thou shalt not make use of public restrooms at Target or KMart or (in case hell has frozen over and the only store left on the planet is) WalMart. Why?

They are nasty, there's no other to describe them. Yes, they clean, yes, they clean them like four times a day or more (I didn't stop to check the signoff sheet on my way out) but all the cleaning in the world is not going to even begin to mop up the utter nastiness of the public restroom.

And not even that shred of tissue paper you lay down between your delicate posterior and whatever swarms of germs were left by the last occupant will do anything to lessen the near overwhelming sense of wrongness that is dropping the tail in the public space.

I don't think Grand Central Station could have been busier than that bathroom. I stopped counting after the fifth person entered after me. And then there was the conversation about whether or not the bathroom had been cleaned this shift yet. And then there was the mystery plopper who settled in next door and then having to listen to the uncomfortable silence punctuated by the unmistakable low grunt and plopping splash of a successful contraction.

No, there are places that no man should have to go and a public restroom like those at Target are on the no-squat list. And don't even ask about gas station crappers, they're only good for shooting up and passing out and puking, barely.
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