What women do behind public doors:
Alrighty, its been a long time since I have updated here. So many hilarious things have gone through my head, and situations that have past by unspoken. Well ,I suppose I can take a moment out of my busy schedual to pay my dues, tip the piper, give the community the proverbial teabag. First off, I believe a bit of congrats are in order. T&S and their belly wonder demand a bit of foot stomping, and I am doing it as enthusiatically as one can when pins and needles are shooting through your foot from sitting on it too long. Frankly, I am going to claim the little one is mine, due to the long term staying power of my festival ball sweat and the blessings of fertility it placed upon S's crown. Congratulations , and may the ball sweat continue to bless you and yours.
Second, I will get to my story. I am a little embarressed of my profession, but its quiet work, and normally I have no contact with any other humans save for passing by the few people I work with while swifting away amidst the aisles of boxes, liquids, and clothes. I am a master of the custodial arts. A janitor. The wise old man who gives advice to struggling teenagers in bad coming of age movies you ask? Bull. Janitors are quiet people, who more than likely hate you. The job is relatively easy. Carry this from A to B. Carry this back from B to A because the higher ups are retards and are unsure where to put something the first few times they want it moved. Eventually they get it right, then they forget where they put it when they need it. Then during the day we have to go where customers tread. Normally you don't see us. Occupational obfuscate I call it. They choose not to see the lower caste, so they do not. But we have a magic sign, the yellow rectangle with the red word, Closed written on it. It gives us the power to prevent you from empting your bladder or colon. Because frankly, we don't want you to empty them. We'd rather you suffer than us have to go in there after you. Now, I have to go in to the women's bathroom to clean on a regular occassion. Normally this wouldn't bother me at first. I was raised by women. They have always been cleaner than men. I find now that when women leave their home, many of them find a need to make an even greater mess elsewhere to make up for it. Now the men's bathroom only has two urinals, and two stalls. And yes, occasionally I have to clean up after the guy who gives his phallis too much credit, and yes, they don't put the seat down, and yes I have pulled toilet paper out of the drain of a urinal before. But this is nothing compared to the women's bathroom. It is twice as large with eight stalls, double the number of sinks, triple the number of trash cans, a mirror, and a sitting area in case they want to sit down and powder their noses. Yet, consistantly, there is more trash on the floor, more unflushed toilets, more clogged toilets, more splashes, more crap, more soap on the mirror. They are filthy, as if the need is there to make up for household cleanliness. And for some reason, these few women who make a bad name for the rest of them, also believe that their bladder deserves more respect than a mans. If I put up a closed sign in front of the men's room, nine out of ten guys notice it and leave to find another option. The women's bathroom, one in six see the sign and pay attention. The thing is big, I put it in a place to be purposefully in the way of their legs. They just step around it, like it didn't exist. Then when they see me, a guy wandering around cleaning things, they look at me confusedly and ask me if the bathroom is closed. So, despite the fact that I know better. Despite the fact many of my friends are women, and I know many of them are not stupid like this. These few women so frequent these bathrooms, that if anyone was doing a study it would seem that only one in six women knew how to read, and only three in five were mentally capable of flushing a toilet. Then when you catch them, they freak out. I yelled, "Housekeeping, anyone in here?" There was no answer but I heard a flsuh. So I waited. And waited. Then another flush. Alright I thought, two women. Nope. Seven more flushes later the woman left. I had asked a female co-worker to go check if the woman was okay, or if it was a youngster screwing with the jiggly handle. It seems that a woman had clogged the toilet, and when dshe heard me was attempting to fix the problem. So she kept flushing. Then she made a mess because it over flowed. So she tried cleaning it herself, but had put the cleaning materials into the clogged toilet. Clogging it further. Eventually when she thought it was clean enough, and made my job sufficently harder, she left with an embarressed look on her face. I orginally thought perhaps she was having lady troubles and I felt bad that I had rushed her. When I found out that her lady troubles were actually the incapability to not mess with a clogged toilet, or to even get the original mess into the bowl, I was furious. I mean, you sit down! How can you miss? Well, my lady friend's tell me, that's nasty so most of us just hover. Let me tell you. If ever woman just sat the fuck down, it wouldn't be nasty. We steralize those damn things every morning with chemicals that can eat through steel. Then we wash them away, leaviong your bum safe and sound from nasty germs. So if the first woman sat down, it would stay clean. Then the second, etc. SImple, eh? Or use the toilet covers. But they don't work I am told. Well, I have used those toilet covers to great success in the past, so I must assume, these few women have some sort of mental or emotional disability that they fear these toilet covers. As if there is ky on the bottom of them, so that when you sit, you will slide off the seat and land face first in the bowl. Sure men are messy, but at least when they clog a urinal it was intentional destruction of property. Some how the concept of some punk kid, shoving wads of toilet paper into a device meant to only take liquids, for the precise plan of making it overflow, makes me feel a whole lot better than a squad of over the hill grannies with bowel problems, accidently making my job harder. Frankly, it makes me feel like dressing up like an orc and taking a massive club to the toilet bowls and see if they walk passed my closed sign then and do it in the sink for good measure.
Now that I have vented, let me note, I love women, specialy my woman, and her cleaniness and the cleaniness of those I know are not in question. This is the simple ruminations of a man who while is more than happy to be between your legs as often as possible, wish he knew less about what happened in and around your legs on a daily basis. I mean, I have my hand up to the wrist in these bowls on a regular occassion, and I am running out of larger gloves. They don't normally supply gloves up to our shoulders, and those pipes are deep and huge. So in conclusion, shit happens.
Oh, and revel in the new horde icon I have discovered. For the Horde!!!!
P.S. Editing department found mangled. Intestines more than likely swallowed by rabid werewolf babies. Spellcheck will resume when someone is brave enough to answer our ad in the Village Voice.
P.P.S. Village Idiot needed to spellcheck future Psuedo-dictator's ruminations. Toilet cloggers need not apply.
Second, I will get to my story. I am a little embarressed of my profession, but its quiet work, and normally I have no contact with any other humans save for passing by the few people I work with while swifting away amidst the aisles of boxes, liquids, and clothes. I am a master of the custodial arts. A janitor. The wise old man who gives advice to struggling teenagers in bad coming of age movies you ask? Bull. Janitors are quiet people, who more than likely hate you. The job is relatively easy. Carry this from A to B. Carry this back from B to A because the higher ups are retards and are unsure where to put something the first few times they want it moved. Eventually they get it right, then they forget where they put it when they need it. Then during the day we have to go where customers tread. Normally you don't see us. Occupational obfuscate I call it. They choose not to see the lower caste, so they do not. But we have a magic sign, the yellow rectangle with the red word, Closed written on it. It gives us the power to prevent you from empting your bladder or colon. Because frankly, we don't want you to empty them. We'd rather you suffer than us have to go in there after you. Now, I have to go in to the women's bathroom to clean on a regular occassion. Normally this wouldn't bother me at first. I was raised by women. They have always been cleaner than men. I find now that when women leave their home, many of them find a need to make an even greater mess elsewhere to make up for it. Now the men's bathroom only has two urinals, and two stalls. And yes, occasionally I have to clean up after the guy who gives his phallis too much credit, and yes, they don't put the seat down, and yes I have pulled toilet paper out of the drain of a urinal before. But this is nothing compared to the women's bathroom. It is twice as large with eight stalls, double the number of sinks, triple the number of trash cans, a mirror, and a sitting area in case they want to sit down and powder their noses. Yet, consistantly, there is more trash on the floor, more unflushed toilets, more clogged toilets, more splashes, more crap, more soap on the mirror. They are filthy, as if the need is there to make up for household cleanliness. And for some reason, these few women who make a bad name for the rest of them, also believe that their bladder deserves more respect than a mans. If I put up a closed sign in front of the men's room, nine out of ten guys notice it and leave to find another option. The women's bathroom, one in six see the sign and pay attention. The thing is big, I put it in a place to be purposefully in the way of their legs. They just step around it, like it didn't exist. Then when they see me, a guy wandering around cleaning things, they look at me confusedly and ask me if the bathroom is closed. So, despite the fact that I know better. Despite the fact many of my friends are women, and I know many of them are not stupid like this. These few women so frequent these bathrooms, that if anyone was doing a study it would seem that only one in six women knew how to read, and only three in five were mentally capable of flushing a toilet. Then when you catch them, they freak out. I yelled, "Housekeeping, anyone in here?" There was no answer but I heard a flsuh. So I waited. And waited. Then another flush. Alright I thought, two women. Nope. Seven more flushes later the woman left. I had asked a female co-worker to go check if the woman was okay, or if it was a youngster screwing with the jiggly handle. It seems that a woman had clogged the toilet, and when dshe heard me was attempting to fix the problem. So she kept flushing. Then she made a mess because it over flowed. So she tried cleaning it herself, but had put the cleaning materials into the clogged toilet. Clogging it further. Eventually when she thought it was clean enough, and made my job sufficently harder, she left with an embarressed look on her face. I orginally thought perhaps she was having lady troubles and I felt bad that I had rushed her. When I found out that her lady troubles were actually the incapability to not mess with a clogged toilet, or to even get the original mess into the bowl, I was furious. I mean, you sit down! How can you miss? Well, my lady friend's tell me, that's nasty so most of us just hover. Let me tell you. If ever woman just sat the fuck down, it wouldn't be nasty. We steralize those damn things every morning with chemicals that can eat through steel. Then we wash them away, leaviong your bum safe and sound from nasty germs. So if the first woman sat down, it would stay clean. Then the second, etc. SImple, eh? Or use the toilet covers. But they don't work I am told. Well, I have used those toilet covers to great success in the past, so I must assume, these few women have some sort of mental or emotional disability that they fear these toilet covers. As if there is ky on the bottom of them, so that when you sit, you will slide off the seat and land face first in the bowl. Sure men are messy, but at least when they clog a urinal it was intentional destruction of property. Some how the concept of some punk kid, shoving wads of toilet paper into a device meant to only take liquids, for the precise plan of making it overflow, makes me feel a whole lot better than a squad of over the hill grannies with bowel problems, accidently making my job harder. Frankly, it makes me feel like dressing up like an orc and taking a massive club to the toilet bowls and see if they walk passed my closed sign then and do it in the sink for good measure.
Now that I have vented, let me note, I love women, specialy my woman, and her cleaniness and the cleaniness of those I know are not in question. This is the simple ruminations of a man who while is more than happy to be between your legs as often as possible, wish he knew less about what happened in and around your legs on a daily basis. I mean, I have my hand up to the wrist in these bowls on a regular occassion, and I am running out of larger gloves. They don't normally supply gloves up to our shoulders, and those pipes are deep and huge. So in conclusion, shit happens.
Oh, and revel in the new horde icon I have discovered. For the Horde!!!!
P.S. Editing department found mangled. Intestines more than likely swallowed by rabid werewolf babies. Spellcheck will resume when someone is brave enough to answer our ad in the Village Voice.
P.P.S. Village Idiot needed to spellcheck future Psuedo-dictator's ruminations. Toilet cloggers need not apply.