The king is dead

This morning, the smell emanating from second floor men's room made my knees buckle. As I was walking by the door.

When the plume is strong enough to work its way through the door, you have officially lost your spot as "the best men's room in the building."

We've seen this coming. But when the champ finally hits the canvas, it's a shock.

Stand and deliver

Yesterday, I walked into fourth floor men's room and discovered a gentleman standing in the stall of last resort, engaged in a little number one action.

Both urinals were open for business (no waiting) and yet this fellow decided to head into the stall and make his pee pee there.

Interesting. And curious.

Why does a guy forgo the devil-may-care breeziness of a urinal for the more serious confines of the business chamber? Antisocial? Performance anxiety?

Is he anti-urinal? Or is he just extremely pro-stall?

Did he have a bad experience where a colleague tried to make conversation at the urinal but he's a "I-need-to-focus-on-what-I'm-doing" kind of guy and so he adopted a new routine?

Was he at a urinal and somebody looked over, looked down and made some sort of comment about his physiology? (I mean, past experience suggests that we do work among men who are built...differently.)

I, for one, wanted to know this man's story. But I could not ask. He was sealed away. Apart. Distant. Alone.

Just say no to medical waste

We don't write about the first floor men's room a whole lot. Since it's the facility that services that majority of guests to the agency, it's usually kept in pretty good shape.

But last week, I came across something that I have not seen on any other floor: medical waste left on the counter next to the sink. OK, so it was somebody's used disposable contact lens package, but...on the counter next to the sink? What's next, old bandages? Used syringes?

"Mmmm, this wound is healing nicely. I think I'll just leave this bloody gauze pad right here next to the soap."

Not cool. I realize that the 720 restrooms now only accept garbage of the paper towel variety, but if you're discarding something that was originally purchased at a pharmacy, maybe you take it with you when you leave? Just a thought.

Pastry chef is in the house

MAJOR triple red alert in 4th floor penthouse stall this morning.

Looks like somebody was trying to frost a cake.

Seriously, dude...I really don't need to see your ganache troweled all over the seat.

On the seat! How does one even do that? Where exactly is the exit on your frosting bag? The middle of your back?

Get thee to a doctor, friend. STAT.

Bleach spill on three

Bleach spill outside the door of the third floor men's room.

And all I could think was, "They USE bleach in third floor men's room?"

Nothing about the experience of third floor men's room suggests that it has ever made the acquaintance of a cleaning product as strong as bleach.

Seriously?

I don't mean to sound like your wife, but would it kill you to lift the lid?

Or better yet, let me introduce you to Mr. Urinal--he doesn't have a lid that needs lifting.

Seriously, guys...earlier today, one of you walked into the fourth floor men's room, walked right past the two urinals, past the stall of last resort, past the Peter Brady stall, entered the penthouse stall, closed the door, locked it...and then proceeded to pee all over the seat.

Who does that?

Paper towels only

Recently, the men’s rooms (shouldn’t the plural of “men’s room” be “men’s reem?”) in our building “went green.” That means all the trash will be recycled.

As a consequence, fancy plastic signs have been affixed to each men’s room trash cans that say “Paper Towels Only.”

So here’s my question: what other trash were people tossing in there that necessitated the sign?

“Mmm...I think I’ll finish up my lunch in the men’s room and when I’m done, I will discard my extra food waste in the nearest receptacle.”

“Honey, don’t worry about the garbage in the kitchen, I’ll take it into work with me and dump it in the rest room.”

“Golly, should I go to the bathroom in one of the toilets or in this here trash can?”

Paper towels only, men. Glad we got that cleared up.

Is nothing sacred?

Everybody knows that the men’s room on two is the best men’s room in the building. There are a number of reasons—the low number of men who actually work on two, auto-flush toilets in every stall, a cheerful wall color, etc.

But even paradise has its bad days.

Today is a bad day for two.

The wall of smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. This would not be the premium potty experience I hoped for. I did a quick scan and realized that the Peter Brady stall was occupied.

Had the occupant chosen the warm embrace of the #2 stall, forgoing the relative splendor of the penthouse stall? Or was this a case of misplaced blame? Had the real offender just left the penthouse and exited the men’s room, leaving the Peter Brady occupant to take the blame for the remaining plume?

Put then I noticed it. A magazine. Open. On the ground between the two feet of the Peter Brady visitor.

We’re his hands too tired to hold the magazine while he sat? Were his hands otherwise occupied?

Men, there are few areas LESS sanitary then the square foot directly in front of a toilet. It is not a place one should set anything of value and certainly not an item that you will be taking with you, handling for extended periods of time and, perhaps, passing on to a colleague.

It was all the evidence I needed. The reader and the pooper were one in the same.

Second floor, I hardly know you.