On the floor of the office building that I work in there is a 4 stall women’s restroom. It’s impeccibally clean. There are never any stray pubes, dirt in the tiles, the seats are sparkling. You don’t have to put your sleeve over your hand to open the door.
I know everyone that uses the bathroom and they seem like tidy people. I’m a germ phobe about some things but not toilet seats. It’s a misconception that your bum is on the seat, certainly your hole doesn’t even get close. I’d say it’s my thigh area that is on the seat. And fuck if my thighs, got a disease, maybe they’d get skinnier, right ladies!??!??!?!?
Anyway above every toilet seat are those sanitary tissue paper thingies shaped like a toilet seat, except that you have to punch out the middle. You place it over the toilet bowl and sit your bum down. I’ve always had trouble with these things, never really punching out the middle correctly. Also when I have to use the bathroom, I wait until the last minute. I find it so inconvenient that I, a human in 2005, still have to squat over things and release. Really? There isn’t a better way? I have two seconds to spare from the time I get in the stall and get my pants down or I wet my pants.
One time I peed on the paper and then was conflicted about how to get it in the toilet without getting pee on me (I don’t care that it’s my pee. That is gross!) or on the floor. And am I supposed to flush the tissue paper? Doesn’t seem right, does it?
So whenever I go in the bathroom, I never bother with the tissue seat thingie. But I hear all of the other women doing it. And when they hear me not doing it, I always get dirty looks when I leave my stall.
I’m just not that knit-picky. I want to be always on guard and perfect. Like I keep meaning to be one of those chicks that carries a trial sized everything in her desk in case of emergency, deoderant, mouthwash. Or the girl who touches up her make-up at 2pm. But I never do. Once I leave work I look like I’ve been through battle becuase I spend my day spilling things on myself, putting pencils in my hair, drinking tea and coffee, breaking my nails, peeling my nail polish. I remember as a little girl, coming home from school with my dresses dirty, my shoes scuffed and my hair ratty. I don’t know. The day has always taken it’s toll on me, while the other girls seemed so prim and proper.
Anyway now when I go in the stall, I fake it so the ladies don’t think I’m a scum. I loudly rip a tissue paper thingie out of the holder, I punch furiously at the middle and I just hold onto it while I pee. Then I throw it in the tampon box thing. I can’t stand the dirty looks anymore.
It’s just not me to bother with a tissue paper ass protector. That is what separates me from the office drones. At times, I feel less of a woman, like I should be thinking constantly about preventing butt disease and I’d have more money and a nice house.
But not thinking about these details maybe makes me more of an artist and it means that secretly I know the meaning of life. As my third grade teacher used to say, “A clean desk is a sign of nobody home.”