But I’m just not comfortable when I use a restroom, and it smells, well, like the smell of human excrement that’s gone stale after being the air for too long.
And then I turn around and see a sign like this on the inside of the door:
No, I did not write that as a joke, and no I am absolutely not making this up. The only reason the picture is blurry is because all I had was my cell phone and I wanted to document this horror.
As people always seem to in horror movies, I had one of those irresistible impulses — coupled with an inner voice telling me Not To Do It — to look inside the trash can.
Yes, it contained what I thought it would. (And yes, I’m afraid it was in New Jersey. Sorry; I know the whole state isn’t like that.)
I tried not to touch the doors, and I ran out of the bathroom without daring to wash my hands.
Comments
10 responses to “Call me crazy, and call me paranoid . . .”
That is disturbingly funny!
The shittiest post ever, if I may say so myself!
A lot of places in Asia with unreliable old plumbing (even, until a few years ago, some venerable Tokyo department stores) have little wastebaskets in the toilets and signs reminding you that you can’t flush the toilet paper.
A very common practice in modern Mexico. I suspect illegal alien influence in NJ.
What should I expect, traveling to a Third World country?
But you did stay long enough to take a picture.
Eeewww!
So. Did everything come out okay?
Duty called! And I had no idea what I was getting into. By the time I saw the sign, I was engaged in the business at hand. But then another form of duty called — a duty to document the horror. I stopped breathing through my nose, whipped out my cell phone, and did the best I could under very trying circumstances.
We don’t want to hear about your dooty.
Excrement.