tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53578934718621713192024-03-24T23:09:55.631-07:00The 720 California 4th Floor Men’s Room BlogMusings about the men’s restrooms at 720 California Street in San FranciscoPotty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-83778834409618626142018-07-12T11:27:00.000-07:002018-07-12T11:27:13.322-07:00The kids are all right<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few months ago, I had an opportunity to start a new stint at 720 California.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Much like the anticipation of seeing an old girlfriend, I wondered…would my cheeks remember the cool taste of 4<sup>th</sup>Floor Men’s Room porcelain? (Yes, sometimes I lift the seat and sit right on the rim; the heart wants what the heart wants.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was like riding a bike. A sweet, sweet bike…that gathers up all your fecal waste and spirits it away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I was also curious about my new poop-mates. In the time since I left, the denizens of 720 California had gotten younger and (ugh) healthier. I wondered if their impact on the facilities would be as, uh, dramatic as year’s past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And at first, I was disappointed. My first months back, it appeared that millennial buttholes where, in fact, different. I assumed that all those years of having their butts wiped by mom and dad, well into their 20s, had turned their anus into a pristine field of dreams.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then, in May, something happened. I walked in to 4<sup>th</sup>Floor Men’s Room and smelled something horrific—a good old-fashioned 720 California assault on the senses. And sure enough, a look into the Peter Brady stall (that’s the middle one, new readers) confirmed the crime. A Jackson Pollack-esque splatter that gave me HOPE. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the subsequent months, my coworkers rallied like a team trying to make up a fourth quarter deficit. Stinks that should be labeled hate crimes. Full bowl blowouts. Under the seat danglers. Prolonged grunt sessions to get the devil out. In other words—the sites and sounds we have come to know and love from the 720 California men’s rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This generation is gonna be just fine, you guys. And whether that’s because of the green juices or the kale or their knowledge that social security will be insolvent well before they retire, their gastrointestinal distress is on par with the GenXers and the Boomers before them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Poop on, young friends. Poop on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-28992411502878505272018-03-20T07:15:00.001-07:002018-03-20T20:14:27.061-07:00Sometimes you want to poop where everybody knows your name<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGT8OHC4hjoVATbyMwhVBmibHE7QEUCQBZpEGEaRVvP4jiC-Nd4C1NrDxDGTpRUBmbAgqXeCl1seO7Esx5cPjQ2YNQ5y9WJ-2lEtxNgdY004GDHgRfJftG9kA67yqZZswFOOx5Aq7Sak/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-03-20+at+6.56.53+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGT8OHC4hjoVATbyMwhVBmibHE7QEUCQBZpEGEaRVvP4jiC-Nd4C1NrDxDGTpRUBmbAgqXeCl1seO7Esx5cPjQ2YNQ5y9WJ-2lEtxNgdY004GDHgRfJftG9kA67yqZZswFOOx5Aq7Sak/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-03-20+at+6.56.53+AM.png" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">There's an old saying: "The heart knows when it's home."*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well, so does the sphincter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yesterday, this veteran potty blogger took a seat on an old friend--the toilet in the penthouse stall in the 4th floor men's room at 720 California.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And just like how your pupils dilate when you see a loved one from your past, my body had a similar response to sitting on the familiar plastic. (And I'm not talking about my pupils. You know what I'm referring to, right?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was like now time at all had passed. The give (me) and take (toilet) was as enjoyable as every--like two childhood besties at a reunion, laughing, completing each other's sentences, and reconnecting after a prolonged separation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What drew me back to my old stomping grounds? Nostalgia. Familiarity. Comfort. After all, just like that wise old TV-show taught us, "sometimes you want to poop where everybody knows your name."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tomorrow is promised to no one, but I feel like there may be more opportunities for us to spend time together in the near future. I hope so. We have some catching up to do. And I'm anxious to learn how the men of 720 are treating my old pal. With the respect it deserves, I'm sure.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">* Honestly, I have no idea whether this is an old saying or not. I made it up. </span></i></div>
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Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-35616965704603361952015-04-27T14:40:00.002-07:002015-04-27T14:40:57.495-07:00Did you leave your balls in the men’s room? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Somebody did.<br />
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That is a ping-pong ball sitting up on the handicap rail of the penthouse stall.<br />
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First of all, this is INSANELY dangerous. Can you imagine the handi-abled gent who wheels into the stall and then tries to hoist himself onto the bowl using that rail and then his hand SLIPS on your carelessly-left-behind ping-pong ball?!? He could fall and paralyze himself! (If he’s not already paralyzed, of course.)<br />
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Second, which one of you ballers is carrying around your own ping-pong ball? And why?<br />
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Third, WHERE were you keeping that ball? Was it someplace where it needed to be removed before you could do your #2 business?<br />
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The lesson here: If you insist on keeping a ping-pong ball in your butt (no judgement) then please replace it before exiting the stall lest your double paralyze a co-worker.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-29706718658851748262015-04-14T13:25:00.000-07:002015-04-14T13:25:06.535-07:00Please don't wipe your butt with an old t-shirt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wish I didn't have to write this, but evidence in the men's room this week suggests that it may be necessary. <div>
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If you are making a number two and there is no toilet paper but there IS an old t-shirt lying around, you MAY be tempted to use that old t-shirt to wipe your butt. </div>
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But think ahead, dear reader. Then what? What happens the second after you've cleaned yourself up? What do you DO with the t-shirt? </div>
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So, thanks, thoughtful-co-worker-who-left-his-old-t-shirt-draped-over-the-handicap-bar but I think we'll be just fine without your v-neck. </div>
Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-10208084674615812122015-03-20T09:26:00.001-07:002015-03-20T09:26:25.619-07:00Watermelon anus? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This tip came in this morning from a faithful reader. It feels like important news to report.<br />
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This is what the future is going to be like friends: a world where you can make your dumps smell like anything you want. That's a world I WANT to live in.<br />
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Not sure if it's a pill or an attachment or what that gives you this super power, but sign Potty Blogger up for your beta test, please.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-67114688390685228402014-08-28T10:04:00.000-07:002014-08-28T10:04:24.557-07:00What. The. Fuck.Listen, this is a blog about toilets and bodily functions. We've seen some things. We've talked about stuff you probably wouldn't share at the dinner table. In fact, some days you can get a little jaded, thinking you've seen it all.<br />
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“Do I even have the capacity to be shocked anymore?<span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span> a potty blogger thinks to himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then...<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday, I stumbled across a crime scene so hard to explain that it immediately slapped me back to the “ olden days<span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span> of this blog. When coworkers seemed to go out of their way to find new and creative ways to soil the porcelain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was first floor men<span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span>s room. (Yes, the one that no longer says “men<span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span> on the outside of the door but, rather, sports a cheeky set of painted “two low balls<span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span> to indicate “this one is for the fellas.<span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span>)</div>
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I headed to the penthouse stall for a quiet sit when I pushed back the door and saw it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is that a large, wet caterpillar that has just pushed out of its cocoon and crawled up on the seat?<span style="font-size: 12pt;">” i</span>s how my brain first tried to make sense of what it saw.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it was no caterpillar.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And this was no in-the-bowl remnant. This was an honest-to-goodness, proud-as-a-peacock, sitting-smack-dab-on-the-seat turd.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Many questions flooded forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was it coworker<span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span>s silent protest? Or a cry for help?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was it the rogue byproduct of an interviewee's nervous tummy?<o:p></o:p></div>
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And who, in god’s name, commits such a crime, stands, sees it and thinks, “Yeah, I’m just going to leave that there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, I took a picture. (Mainly to confirm later that it was not some delirious fever dream, but that somebody actually left that baby on the shelf.) And the editorial staff here at 720-California-4th-floor-mens-room-dot-blogspot-dot-com debated long and hard about whether or not to include the photo along with this post.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But if we do that, the terrorist wins.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know who you are, first floor turd painter, but what you did was WRONG. This is not some art project and an office toilet seat is not a canvas for your fecal shenanigans.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Cut it out.</div>
Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-3761253226071702212014-08-06T10:21:00.000-07:002014-08-06T10:27:16.392-07:00Cinnamon Urinal Cake<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMwc8DZPQjYSgb6u7NuRl7gfJEtEjguwNsEEmSbV_lMka4lElfRqnjowiQniTq_18sWmrZPUfwt6cYNdF9lCNz0gTa3pTb6HuVRJ552gL2LY103A-oOmPG3Nc9KvvGQBZrQMiK2177xo/s1600/cinnamon.urinal.cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMwc8DZPQjYSgb6u7NuRl7gfJEtEjguwNsEEmSbV_lMka4lElfRqnjowiQniTq_18sWmrZPUfwt6cYNdF9lCNz0gTa3pTb6HuVRJ552gL2LY103A-oOmPG3Nc9KvvGQBZrQMiK2177xo/s1600/cinnamon.urinal.cake.jpg" /></a>Hello, innovation!<br />
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The mens rooms at 720 California are enjoying a sweet new smell this week. Cinnamon urinal cakes.<br />
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It's like peeing into a bowl of <a href="http://www.ferrarausa.com/brands/red-hots/" target="_blank">Red Hots</a>! So satisfying.<br />
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But be careful, men. For those of you who are more generously endowed, don't let your equipment dip down and make contact. Nobody wants a stick of <a href="http://www.wrigley.com/global/brands/big-red.aspx" target="_blank">Big Red</a> in their urethra. (Trust me on this one.)Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-56414642466782473882014-06-26T17:39:00.000-07:002014-08-06T10:27:54.216-07:00Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a long, long time since potty blogger has written, dear readers.<br />
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So long that I began to wonder if anything would make me take up my pen again. Writing about the dumps of co-workers is a one-way ticket to jaded-ville, friends. Once you've seen the after effects of somebody shooting from their <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/04/from-whence-black-spot.html" target="_blank">northern anus</a>, nothing really shocks or inspires anymore.<br />
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But something wonderful has happened on 3rd floor.<br />
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Somebody has introduced a <a href="http://www.squattypotty.com/" target="_blank">squatty potty</a> to the stall of last resort.<br />
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Let me repeat that: a co-worker has purchased a piece of equipment designed to help open his colon and then left that piece of equipment permanently in place for all of his co-workers to also use and enjoy.<br />
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That guy for president of the world!<br />
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Thank you for your gift. Thank you for giving me a reason to write again. But most of all, thank you for giving my poops a silky smooth road home.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-23242062373558367472013-03-15T23:08:00.001-07:002014-08-06T10:28:15.232-07:00Soft launchYes, potty blogger is back to the important work of chronicling the poopin' and peein' of 720 California. But I return to this forum without fanfare. One long-time reader recently asked if there would be some sort of party to celebrate this blog's return.<br />
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No, there will not.<br />
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This is a soft launch. (Not to be confused with a particular type of loose stool that is known in some circles at "<a href="http://youveneverheardofjentidwell.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/plush-poop.jpg">soft launch</a>.") I am quietly re-acquainting myself with the sites and smells of this fine set of rest rooms.</div>
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Emphasis on the "quietly."</div>
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Just as the first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club, the first rule of 720California4thFloorMensRoom.blogspot.com is you do not approach potty blogger in a crowded office hallway and ask him if he's "seen the shit stain on four." </div>
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And while an eye witness report that "there's a particularly gruesome deuce in the second floor Peter Brady stall" IS valuable information, that information is less welcome while potty blogger is in the middle of a conversation with his boss.</div>
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In other words: a little decorum, people. Keep those tips coming, but consider picking an appropriate moment. Lowering your voice. Or maybe an email? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysk19YbnRYEVIqk3RtLLW2Qko-J33e6ei7rrhf5_E_EJpFXmiz8h2vWLHQwdjImwrq24udAkusqBWe_KzjKcKq7_JiwKARQLHek-QzMpvcfh7knNxR_OwIy9P-qsKPhW1HrrRTzZTlRQ/s1600/Unknown.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysk19YbnRYEVIqk3RtLLW2Qko-J33e6ei7rrhf5_E_EJpFXmiz8h2vWLHQwdjImwrq24udAkusqBWe_KzjKcKq7_JiwKARQLHek-QzMpvcfh7knNxR_OwIy9P-qsKPhW1HrrRTzZTlRQ/s320/Unknown.png" height="320" width="177" /></a>The illustration that accompanies this entry is from a long-time reader who suggested that the blog may want to consider a "kids corner" in the future. It's a wonderful suggestion and I will run by my editorial board. But in the meantime, I see nothing childish about a pencil taking a dump, so I share it with you, my mature adult readership.</div>
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Finally, another long-time reader confessed that she lost a SECOND iPhone to the toilets of 720 today. (Words with Friends is worse than heroin, friends. There are risks.)</div>
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I, for one, am proud to live in a world where I can play "JOY" for 34 points WHILE voiding myself at the same time. And if you have to replace a $500 phone every now and then for the privilege, so be it.</div>
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Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-54557682610829016372013-03-04T17:25:00.003-08:002013-03-04T17:25:57.647-08:00Hot water hosanna!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfnAKuODo9-HuOWx1s5YbZO0PInxYOKf-mif8U-V2ccC1Zz1yWEjlgwMKpjRirviHBn-sWuvD1TKX9MmgXu8Ov6Vah25yvKKzrVJSfB9gUEZQbpk1PJBiEhc2jd6sU0uPwQ7MxMKe7pY/s1600/outoforder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfnAKuODo9-HuOWx1s5YbZO0PInxYOKf-mif8U-V2ccC1Zz1yWEjlgwMKpjRirviHBn-sWuvD1TKX9MmgXu8Ov6Vah25yvKKzrVJSfB9gUEZQbpk1PJBiEhc2jd6sU0uPwQ7MxMKe7pY/s1600/outoforder.jpg" /></a>The mule train arrived from Tennessee and the new hot water heater is here!<br />
<br />
That's right, friends...the fecal matter you've been carrying around underneath your fingernails for the last month can finally get a hot sanitary wash. (Although, there is a report that the new heater's, er, "pumper" may not be strong enough to get the hot stuff up to six. Which is a problem that older <strike>gentlemen</strike> water heaters have and it does not make them any less of a <strike>man</strike> water heater.)<br />
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But if you're on E, 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5, scrub 'em good, co-workers!<br />
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While "Hot Water Watch" comes to an end, "6th Floor Big Boy Urinal Watch" is now in it's fourth day.<br />
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On Friday, somebody put up a very nice sign indicating that 6th floor fellas should take their stand up business elsewhere. The sign is still up late on Monday, so I suspect 6th floor-ers may want to get used to the idea that the man-height plumbing will be out of commission for a while.<br />
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You know what they say: when god delivers a water heater he also breaks a urinal.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-42205848288868293432013-02-25T17:57:00.004-08:002013-02-25T18:01:22.530-08:00Your paper tongue says you hate mePopped in to Second Floor Men's Room this afternoon to conduct some sit-down business. Made my way to the penthouse stall...and was confronted with an all-too familiar scene: a paper seat cover, sticking up out of a bowl full o' the yellow stuff, leering at me like an outstretched paper tongue.<br />
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Why?<br />
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Perpetrator, I have a hard time wrapping my brain around your psychology.<br />
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First, as evidence suggests, you sat down to conduct non-sit-down business. That's not a crime; we've all had the experience of warming up the kitchen appliances, thinking it was time to make pasta and then discovering that it was really more of a SodaStream afternoon.<br />
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And you're clearly not a barbarian since you used a seat cover.<br />
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So why would you stand, scoot the backside of your seat cover into your <a href="http://theculinarycook.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/consomme.jpg">consommé</a>, and then walk out without a flush?<br />
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The .08 seconds that a flush requires is a small way of saying, "I don't hate the poor sap who may wander in after me."<br />
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Why do you hate me? Why do you hate all of us? Do you need a hug?<br />
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Stick that paper tongue back into the mouth of hell and flush...so that the foul mouth swallows the tongue and...<br />
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OK, so the analogy breaks down at some point. Just flush next time, will ya?<br />
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<br />Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-89878359451040767202013-02-22T14:17:00.001-08:002013-02-23T10:20:28.073-08:00Two hobosJust overheard two hobos arguing outside of 720 California. First hobo suggests they go inside and ask the security guard if they can use the bathroom. Second hobo says, "They don't even have hot water in the bathrooms right now. THAT'S nasty."<br />
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Amen, well-informed hobo. Amen.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-27290423478553145492013-02-21T18:08:00.000-08:002013-02-21T18:09:41.182-08:00If we were a hospital, they'd have shut us down a week agoOK. I get it. We're not doing brain surgery here.<br />
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But 10 days and counting with no hot water in the rest rooms? That ain't exactly a recipe for health.<br />
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We may not be at <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06nUI3F5wth-jnvoWobUr7podkYmCX9Qj8RVuggYy6AtQoUCfT2JUOPDjvcvUech20bPZb0uTflqhUAn8BwdQqlvIL03ZNgqNxGEsajiGei3aw5AI_hz5CvPvPiOjKaMdoDlv2lJusmke/s1600/Contagion-movies-wallpaper.jpg">CONTAGION</a> levels quite yet, but I did see a dude today who I thought just had hairy hands, but on closer inspection, the hair looked a little green and I thought, "that might just be a fungus crust."<br />
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Apparently the only water heater IN AMERICA that can supply this fine facility with hot water is still making its way here from Tennessee.<br />
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In the meantime, I urge you to completely wrap your hands in seat covers before conducting ANY business (yes, even business of a #1 variety.) The life you save could be your own.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEK3LWnrHlu0JCNl78x7Si25ZYqy_jrFpe8fFv31TSjnOtQTFnLBSTFqirhngQJuuuX0nTNAn-NmNTqvWsyJdQwcYgkgPff_pmI5QikUmBN73O5VniXz4klvfhGjwGLwAp_uYPm1jzchw/s1600/wrapyohand.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="wrapyohand" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEK3LWnrHlu0JCNl78x7Si25ZYqy_jrFpe8fFv31TSjnOtQTFnLBSTFqirhngQJuuuX0nTNAn-NmNTqvWsyJdQwcYgkgPff_pmI5QikUmBN73O5VniXz4klvfhGjwGLwAp_uYPm1jzchw/s1600/wrapyohand.png" title="wrapyohand" /></a>Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-20832007054234386732013-02-12T09:51:00.002-08:002013-02-12T09:58:06.066-08:00Good morning, norovirus!The first all-agency email of the day?<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
good morning.<br />hot water is off in all the bathroom sinks at 720. kitchens and shower are still good to go.<br />we should be back online as early as tomorrow.<br />sorry for any inconvenience.</blockquote>
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Yeah, hot water in the bathroom probably isn't all that important, is it? And directing people to rinse the urine and fecal residue off in the kitchen sink, a mere inches away from the surface where you'll be slathering up that peanut butter sandwich? That seems like a wonderful idea!<br />
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I've missed this level of hygiene.<br />
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Today, potty blogger will be washing his hands in the e-level shower, friends.
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Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-76063057204150999862013-02-08T17:13:00.000-08:002013-02-08T17:13:34.733-08:00Return to the throneYes, the rumors are true. Potty blogger is back in the building.<br />
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What’s truly wonderful about spending some time away from the bathrooms of 720 California is that when you return, you see them with fresh eyes.<br />
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And smell them with fresh nostrils.<br />
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Which brings me to my list of “The Top 3 Things That Surprised Me About Returning to the 4th Floor Men’s Room at 720 California.”<br />
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<b>1. The New Smell of Freshness</b><br />
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There’s a whole new aroma bouquet up in this joint.
In the last year, cans of Febreze have appeared on the bathroom counters (you can smell the cancer in the air!) and it’s clear that more than one person in the building is spritzing with abandon.<br />
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But the big upgrade are the lime green urinal splash guards that smell as if they were marinated in my grandmother’s potpourri bowl. They are so over powering that my knees buckled a bit while conducting some #1 business earlier this week.<br />
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My nose thanks you for the “progress.”<br />
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<b>2. Clean Yo Shit Up</b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj_XuPkC_eV0u6dyHuilY6z9N_dOvr8eBZVsHW3-54kYtKEqpRyunUbUOEkh6g7crobfKodVklkQFGn31znlyspzLJzVoyje41NsaXp_Q6uKCMuWPNjhu3jPFoFiKX9aMLjkRsyw8ahw/s1600/smile.sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj_XuPkC_eV0u6dyHuilY6z9N_dOvr8eBZVsHW3-54kYtKEqpRyunUbUOEkh6g7crobfKodVklkQFGn31znlyspzLJzVoyje41NsaXp_Q6uKCMuWPNjhu3jPFoFiKX9aMLjkRsyw8ahw/s400/smile.sign.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
When a problem rises to the level of “I better get my ass to the trophy shop and have a sign made,” you know a line has been crossed.<br />
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I can only imagine how bad the stack of crumbled paper towels must have gotten to force the company to invest in these counter-top engravings.<br />
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The lack of capitalization and punctuation leaves me a little confused as how to read. Right now, it reads like a kid with turrets who doesn’t really want to yell at you and smiles a lot so he doesn’t seem like a dick…but he’s still kind of a dick.<br />
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<b>3. Butthole-In-The-Middle-Of-His-Back Still Works Here </b><br />
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I’m not sure if this is a source of comfort or horror.<br />
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For those of you who may not be familiar with this particular character, he is Potty Blogger’s Moby Dick--a pooping <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/04/from-whence-black-spot.html">nemesis</a> that did such <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/07/pastry-chef-is-in-house.html">unspeakable work</a>, that he became a minor fascination.<br />
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His signature is a splatter pattern that suggests a physiology very different from you and I. While have never seen the creature in the wild, inspection of the evidence suggests that this man’s butthole is the middle of the back. It’s the only explanation for some of the things that I’ve seen.<br />
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There’s been quite a bit of turnover in the past 18 months at 720 California, so I assumed that this pooping-unicorn had probably moved on.<br />
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But yesterday, the third floor penthouse stall proved otherwise.<br />
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It's nice to know that the men's rooms of 720 California still have the power to shock.
Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-51711728051260155282011-08-10T16:28:00.000-07:002011-08-12T12:46:43.913-07:00And so we come to the endDear readers, after three years roaming the hallowed halls of 720 California, Potty Blogger is clocking out and moving on to a new place of employment.
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<br />It has been a privilege to serve you during this time.
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<br />This blog has pointed out the <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/04/coincidence.html">obvious</a>, introduced new <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2010/03/big-macn.html">vocabulary</a>, helped reduced the volume of <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2010/05/workaholic.html">stall emailing</a>, and even inspired <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-pilgrims-please.html">pilgrims</a> to make the journey to our fair headquarters.
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<br />But most of all, it has been about community. The common bond that occurs when a group of people see something mysterious in a men’s room and think, “Is a human being really responsible for that?”
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<br />Did we accomplish everything we hoped? No. There is still no <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/06/case-for-bidet.html">bidet</a> on the fourth floor. And we never did get a toilet with the incredible sucking power of this little <a href="http://www.stthomascreations.com/video/player.html">baby</a>. But I like to think that together, we made beautiful <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2010/01/call-and-response.html">music</a> together.
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<br />I bid you farewell. The whole blog is yours to continue to explore and enjoy, but here are some of my favorites posts from the past three years.
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<br />10. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/05/ol-switcherroo.html">The ol' switcheroo</a>
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<br />9. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/10/what-hell-is-that.html">What the hell is THAT?</a>
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<br />8. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-need-you-to-suck-more-and-tumble-less.html">I need you to suck more and tumble less</a>
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<br />7. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/05/please-close-gates-of-hell-behind-you.html">Please close the gates of hell behind you</a>
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<br />6. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-am-not-now-nor-have-i-ever-been-turd.html">I am not now, nor have I ever been, a turd burglar</a>
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<br />5. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/05/soundtrack-etiquette.html">Soundtrack etiquette</a>
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<br />4. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/06/fourth-floor-makes-statement.html">Fourth floor makes a statement</a>
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<br />3. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/06/black-and-brown-tuesday.html">Black (and Brown) Tuesday</a>
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<br />2. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/02/front-loader.html">Front loader</a>
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<br />1. <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-e-level-vietnam.html">My E-level Vietnam</a>
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<br />Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-60483885833047203292011-08-03T13:51:00.000-07:002011-08-03T13:55:39.527-07:00Executive hands, rejoice!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLsvE-f8leNo-lohbCAyGgSPvnqr2yFEU0BFDDhcFeCjMoyyx4tOdxl1wgKqbm7Y791dGwPcrMxV-JTmVNtmdKS6Vm3QDQLyS2vL0bNhYLLR1MrhfqDStQtXhFoOt2mjbMlP3V59P-Uo/s1600/dyson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLsvE-f8leNo-lohbCAyGgSPvnqr2yFEU0BFDDhcFeCjMoyyx4tOdxl1wgKqbm7Y791dGwPcrMxV-JTmVNtmdKS6Vm3QDQLyS2vL0bNhYLLR1MrhfqDStQtXhFoOt2mjbMlP3V59P-Uo/s400/dyson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636735956547285442" /></a>Luxury has arrived at 720 California and of course its first stop is Fourth Floor Men’s Room.<br /><br />When you think about it, it’s kind of amazing that the baby-like skin of executive hands was <span style="font-style:italic;">ever</span> subjected to the coarse and clumsy paper towel. But now that has been remedied once and for all with the installation of the <a href="http://www.dysonairblade.com/homepage.asp">Dyson Airblade</a>.<br /><br />Plan a field trip to fourth floor. Snap a picture of the amazing technology. But don’t linger too long--important hands need dryin’.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-55287449896989957342011-07-28T09:09:00.001-07:002011-07-28T09:12:42.710-07:00Jack Nicholson spotted in third floor men's room<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAUNUvNPHzq7hMyCSP99R8T_X3tWK_B-Pu0Mz12htYR3UKujDjLsMrkbOAkXKFO9qwtlhmvXii8LJeV2kGhdRmxbGFb4iVc009bpeCvOQ1l9p_naUYzYrfWqZGmcTa8sgs1FBLQWTuAY/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAUNUvNPHzq7hMyCSP99R8T_X3tWK_B-Pu0Mz12htYR3UKujDjLsMrkbOAkXKFO9qwtlhmvXii8LJeV2kGhdRmxbGFb4iVc009bpeCvOQ1l9p_naUYzYrfWqZGmcTa8sgs1FBLQWTuAY/s400/photo.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634436561530683618" /></a>Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-16675316258243821972011-06-17T11:16:00.001-07:002011-06-17T11:21:04.921-07:00ALERT: Turd on the LooseJust received the following email: "Inconceivable crime scene, handi stall on 4."<br /><br />I grabbed my reporter's notebook and headed in.<br /><br />It appears that a turd crawled out of the penthouse bowl (leaving half of its body wedged under seat, it's "legs" dangling off the edge of the bowl) then dropped to the floor, scooted across the tile into the Peter Brady stall, shimmied up the edge of that bowl and then dropped itself into the neighboring toilet.<br /><br />* THIS IS A DEVELOPING STORYPotty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-37605171493441787932011-06-08T10:46:00.000-07:002011-06-08T10:49:15.516-07:00A very particular brand of hygiene<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXc5GNfO9Z7QDc7LPNBNqNvwj6pfyzNjN51pLLW-jNgeN_ZCzeHppex7jJrvnPRl_mTbRyNlQrOZEeMW_ztFuDUszRzspJZn8lmei4zKmUqjonLYq9SvLb8jqVpCSVv5uCGo6xarlheM/s1600/paper.towel.seat.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXc5GNfO9Z7QDc7LPNBNqNvwj6pfyzNjN51pLLW-jNgeN_ZCzeHppex7jJrvnPRl_mTbRyNlQrOZEeMW_ztFuDUszRzspJZn8lmei4zKmUqjonLYq9SvLb8jqVpCSVv5uCGo6xarlheM/s400/paper.towel.seat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615907299323063042" /></a>First floor men’s room is a hit-or-miss proposition. Steps from the lobby, it’s usually in pretty good shape since it has that “we want to make a good impression on our guests” thing going for it.<br /><br />But it’s also the bathroom of choice for nervous-tummy job applicants. And the pre-interview deuce is not a <a href="http://img353.imageshack.us/img353/887/poop0be.jpg">friendly deuce</a>.<br /><br />Yesterday, the first floor penthouse stall provided a strange glimpse at one person’s particular brand of hygiene—a single paper towel left on the seat. <br /><br />What sort of <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001926/">OCD</a> makes a person say, “I can’t make a poopie unless there is a thin barrier of paper towel between my left buttock and the toilet seat”?Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-70766386838863290762011-06-02T09:49:00.000-07:002011-06-02T09:52:12.737-07:00The fourth floor makes a statementThe poopers on four are not going down without a fight.<br /><br />It’s almost as if somebody read our last blog <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/05/3-vs-e.html">entry</a> about third floor and E-level vying for the title of “most vile” and decided that fourth floor, as the namesake of this blog, needed to get back into the mix.<br /><br />Yesterday, they did so in a big way.<br /><br />It started when a co-worker appeared at my office door, his face ashen and his voice shaky.<br /><br />“Have you seen it?”<br /><br />“Seen what?” I asked.<br /><br />“Fourth floor. Penthouse stall. I can’t...”<br /><br />His voice trailed off. He shook his head and shuffled away. He looked broken.<br /><br />I grabbed my reporter’s notebook and headed in.<br /><br />When I opened the door, there was an eerie silence. I was surprised not to walk into a wall of smell. Usually, when a tipster alerts me to a “must see” crime scene, you can pretty much tell what you’re going to see as soon as you open the door. But this was something else. Something more...mysterious.<br /><br />I walked slowly toward the penthouse stall, my footsteps echoing in the empty(?) men’s room. The door to the stall was almost closed, but I could tell that it was not latched. I tapped it gently with my foot and it creaked open.<br /><br />“What the hell happened here?”<br /><br />The toilet was gagged with toilet seat covers—a bouquet of 20 or more, shoved in to the toilet as if to hold back the fires of hell. This was not neat work. The paper was crumpled and matted and showed signs of panic.<br /><br />Strewn about the floor were another dozen toilet seat covers. Fallen solders. Some pristine and others mangled. <br /><br />In the corner, a clutch of ten covers, huddled together. Almost as if they’d crawled into the corner to stay warm before expiring in a heap of dead tissue.<br /><br />And the toilet seat cover holder? Still one or two sticking out of the cardboard, but the edges were jagged and torn. Like a pulpy flesh stump, fresh from an emergency amputation. <br /><br />My eye went down to the toilet paper rolls. Surely this carnage was an act of desperation--a man who found himself without any other option and called upon the toilet seat covers as a last line of defense. But no...two relatively full rolls of toilet paper sat there, untouched. Mocking.<br /><br />I stepped closer to the bowl and quickly realized that down at the roots of this tissue butt-plug was a dark and unhealthy chocolate brew. I backed away.<br /><br />What kind of madness posses a man in his dark hour of need? Yesterday, we got our answer.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-75670526901781866742011-05-27T14:06:00.000-07:002011-05-27T14:19:31.286-07:003 vs. EGiven the number of new employees at 720 California and the corresponding increase in readership, the staff here would like to address a common misconception about this blog.<br /><br />This blog is NOT just about what happens in the fourth floor men’s room. Nay, this blog embraces the culture of ALL the restrooms at 720 California. It’s a state of mind rather than a destination.<br /><br />In fact, if the international war crimes tribunal could only select one 720 California men's room to put on trial for crimes against humanity, they would have difficult time choosing between 3rd floor and E-level.<br /><br />Both offer numerous examples of depravity and human suffering.<br /><br />Third floor men’s room is the home toilet for a profoundly unhealthy workforce that does <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/01/foul-stew.html">not know how to flush</a>. It may also be the toilet of choice for a the <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2010/03/big-macn.html">Big Mac'r </a>himself AND a co-worker that has the ability to <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2011/02/front-loader.html">shit out of his front</a>. (Unless, god forbid, that is the work of the same mythical creature.) The walls are also a nauseating color, but that’s a little like criticizing the drapes a crime scene.<br /><br />On the other hand, E-level is the scene if some of the most <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-e-level-vietnam.html">horrific dumps</a> ever viewed ("...that's not a backpack") and I'm still convinced that there is a corpse rotting in one of the lockers by the door. And there's the ever-present danger that you might get pancaked into the (sole!) urinal by an eager pee-er quickly rounding the corner. <br /><br />I give the slight edge to E-level based on two factors: the 24-hour "always open for business" schedule and the fact that lunch is regularly delivered to all who work on that floor.<br /><br /><a href="http://blogs.westword.com/latestword/fri-firefighter.jpg">Fire fighters</a> know that a any blaze with a readily available fuel source and plenty of time to burn is a dangerous combination. That, my friends, is E-level in a nutshell.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-43181160274419583872011-05-25T14:39:00.000-07:002011-05-25T14:45:40.183-07:00Short toots* Thanks to the mobile phone force member who texted Potty Blogger to let him know that a pair of dirty bike shorts were on the floor of the fourth floor men's room. (The tag in said shorts says "child's medium," suggesting that they belong to a certain partner whose name is on the building.)<br /><br />* The big stall? You can call it "corner office" if you'd like, but we refer to it as "the penthouse" on this blog. Vive la difference!<br /><br />* To the serial "chocolate sprinkler" who seems to be a new regular in third floor penthouse stall--we admire the precision of your craft. It's almost like you are gluing individual nuggets by hand, but of course that can't be the case. Can it?<br /><br />* "Weak Tea" - a turdlet that has been left to brew in an otherwise clean bowl. (Full turds and a longer soak can lead to "strong coffee.")<br /><br />* Remember to give a quick look, men. When you stand up, if any part of the seat is smudged with a brown substance, it's probably not chocolate cake. Do the next guy a favor and wipe down gym equipment for the next guy, OK?<br /><br />* Thanks to the reader who recently recounted the tale of a friend whose "square fart" could not escape his round anus and had to be manually dissipated by an emergency room doctor. I don't know if this is true or what it has to do with the men's rooms at 720 California, but it's a magnificent story.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-44533892445619085132011-05-18T08:51:00.001-07:002011-05-18T08:55:58.866-07:00I need you to suck more and tumble less<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mqF-ZH5arZTrXex2_sDGQxz141_yrL0otksMk1t1Xthyphenhyphen8KskcAf160zsXAG_4BBlvvK5Jg9izJtrlzZwk-dGOveHMPMCz04aq-2PrTo_DkQ1KXnP_9PSHLd_xxzeJx144HM75sC5nCY/s1600/gobstopper.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mqF-ZH5arZTrXex2_sDGQxz141_yrL0otksMk1t1Xthyphenhyphen8KskcAf160zsXAG_4BBlvvK5Jg9izJtrlzZwk-dGOveHMPMCz04aq-2PrTo_DkQ1KXnP_9PSHLd_xxzeJx144HM75sC5nCY/s400/gobstopper.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608084507289438562" /></a>Here at 720 California, certain toilets on certain floors have long had difficulty digesting a full “meal.” <br /><br />But with a recent hiring explosion, something has happened to the water pressure in the building. When you add another 200 poopers into the mix, even the most robust plumbing system is bound to shudder under new demands.<br /><br />As a result, the toilets in the stalls have developed a new coping mechanism--to give the appearance of function, they have adopted a tumbling regimen where once they sucked and swallowed. <br /><br />This results in some odd creations.<br /><br />For example, just yesterday, after a bit of business in the penthouse stall, I grabbed some toilet tissue, cleaned up and tossed it in the bowl. But when I hit flush, it did not suck the contents into the bowels of the plumbing system. Rather, it tumbled my turdlets and the wad of toilet paper into a cyclone, mashing them together in what can only be described as an everlasting gobstobber of shit. (See above photo.)<br /><br />As fascinating (and oddly beautiful) as that is, the toilet’s job really isn’t to create fecal art projects, but to dispose of waste.<br /><br />Three flushes later, I said goodbye to the gobstobber and left a fresh bowl for the next visitor.<br /><br />Building <a href="http://www.vincekeenan.com/uploaded_images/harrington-725920.jpg">superintendent</a>, if you are a reader of this blog, please consider turning your knobs and dials to give our toilets a little more suck and a little less tumble.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5357893471862171319.post-31308081286323519882011-05-16T13:40:00.000-07:002011-05-16T13:45:39.997-07:00Please close the gates of hell behind you<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ55K09RFpy6YDKSIqNbQC6NeAYKZeTWKTdOcz1YgPUBNeTkgVVQ6O-6FML56aBTUsGYYHe9A56dwNlGgfRUn62xHAHhP1Tv_X4t3jhWeRBr5nPn6MfxBOqt7SA1NgnQ9EAryC-t9b3qY/s1600/gates.hell.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ55K09RFpy6YDKSIqNbQC6NeAYKZeTWKTdOcz1YgPUBNeTkgVVQ6O-6FML56aBTUsGYYHe9A56dwNlGgfRUn62xHAHhP1Tv_X4t3jhWeRBr5nPn6MfxBOqt7SA1NgnQ9EAryC-t9b3qY/s400/gates.hell.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607417328782394610" /></a>The struggle over bathroom <a href="http://720california4thfloormensroom.blogspot.com/2009/05/soundtrack-etiquette.html">soundtrack etiquette</a> is well documented on this blog. <br /><br />Out of respect for your co-workers, do you clench and try to minimize the amount of butt music during a #2 session? Or do you let fly, believing that you are entitled to anally whistle any tune you’d like during your time in the saddle?<br /><br />It is, as they say, a personal decision.<br /><br />But one thing that we can all agree on—the sounds of the men’s restroom should really be contained <span style="font-style:italic;">in the men’s restroom</span>. But that’s difficult when a co-worker decides that the doorway to said men’s room is the best spot for an impromptu meeting.<br /><br />Let me explain.<br /><br />I was recently ensconced in the penthouse stall on three, working on a particularly troublesome bit of business. (Damn you taco truck!) Upon entering the men’s room, I had noticed several colleagues congregated around the door (a strange location to “hang out,” to be sure) but knew that the door itself provided a modicum of protection to all parties.<br /><br />Mid deuce, I heard a co-worker open the door and, standing in the transom, begin a conversation with one of the gaggle outside.<br /><br />My instinct to protect the innocent kicked in, I instructed my body to “cork it,” assuming that the chatty co-worker was simply making quick small talk and that he would close the door behind him so that he could conduct his own business.<br /><br />I was wrong.<br /><br />The co-worker began an extended conversation about a work/client thingy. I can’t tell you the details of this critical convo; the act of corkage takes a measure of concentration that prohibited me from fully listening. But I do know that the door remained fully open, potentially exposing my siren call to the entire third floor.<br /><br />Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Somebody squeezed past him, did some urinal business and left—and yet the conversation continued.<br /><br />A good three minutes later, I was just about to yell out “fire in the hole!” when the co-worker wrapped up his very important meeting and moved into the stall of last resort for a little quality time himself. <br /><br />This is not OK, men. Talk inside. Talk outside. But pick a lane.<br /><br />Fortunately, I was able to complete my transaction, wash up and leave. And while I was tempted to grab the trash can out of the kitchen and prop open the door so my co-worker could experience a taste of his own medicine, I suspect that the gesture would have lost on him.<br /><br />Let’s keep those doors closed, men. Danger lurks within.Potty Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02622942641182245827noreply@blogger.com1