Not QUITE this bad, but close…

Okay. This isn’t really it. In fact, I don’t know if it IS a photo of the REAL “Worst Toilet in Scotland” from “Trainspotting”. But it’s not far off from the brown splattered atrocity I often walk into on my floor. The fifth floor where I work is what some might call “an all sausage party”: WAY too many males for that poor facility to handle. As it’s often a full house, I find myself often sneaking down to floor number four for some solitude and relative cleanliness. It’s rare I venture into the nearest one toward day’s end when most of the three-legged slobs have slurped off home. But I have finally learned my lesson after today: I will not set foot in that Third World sewer again, except to “have a slash” as the Brits say. Gentlemen, SHAME ON YOU!!! I feel sorry for your wives. I really do.
This hygienic state of affairs reminds me of the sad plight of a coworker at a previous job in Lockport, NY. He was a tall, big-boned guy who could surely crush a lesser man if driven to it. Yet he kowtowed to his presumably uptight wife (half his size) on one of (surely) many household rules: He was FORBIDDEN from defecating in his own house…EVER! Now, I can attest to the aftermath of his deposits at work. And she just MAY have had a point. But I will be DAMNED if ANYONE is going to stop me from dropping the boys off at my own pool, especially when I am paying half of the frigging mortgage! I hesitate to address you thus, but gentlemen, show some dignity and self-respect. I swear to God, should I ever have the misfortune of having to use a stall right after you, I WILL call you out on it, in front of the rest of the sausage party.