The Horror of the One Person Bathroom

I was in Starbucks the other day.  It was a rare occurrence, I can’t stand the place.  The coffee tastes miserable and their stupid ordering language couldn’t be more annoying…vente, grande, giganta-fuck.  They should add “not volcano” as an option so I can actually drink the fucking coffee before noon.  Honestly, who the hell needs a beverage hot enough to smelt iron.  Maybe one of those Game of Thrones LARPer people..#forevervirgins.  I was only there because I was desperate for coffee and a bathroom….my caffeine addition is strong, like living on meth-mountain strong.  They had that useless one person at a time bathroom, which is always terrible.  I got to the back and of course the door was locked.  Thus begins the mental clock ticking…who is in there, how long have they been there, are they shitting…oh god are shitting?!  The game was afoot.  After several minutes, my only chance of a non-shit previous user would be a mother or father with their child.  That involves help with most activities which could cause a delay, but sadly those hopes were dashed…and quick.  I heard the flush and thought my time was coming, but then, without warning….the second flush.  Again, still could be parent/child, but then came the bone chilling third flush, followed by rapid handle shaking noises.  Those shakes are a punch to the gut…a desperation move to stop the toilet from running because there is still some remnants of the huge dump that was just taken.  Suddenly a fourth flush and rapid shuffling….devastating.  My nerves were frayed and anxiety was high, the thoughts of the horrid smell and possible floaters filled my head.  Oh the smell!  Like that fat uncle Thanksgiving day shit stink you would run into as a child.  Jumping up quick to get a piss in during the commercial break of the football game…only to be smacked in the face with a stink that can only be reproduced by farting taco bell in a crematorium.  There was then a 5th flush and my fate was sealed.  This would not be good.  I heard the sink and new we were now moving into the next phase…the reveal!

Now the exit of the bathroom is the next key component.  If the person makes eye contact, the smell probably isn’t that bad and the toilet is most likely clean.  Yeah you both know you just took a dump but it was realtively mild and there is no guilt or shame involved.  Kind of like when you bang a random fat chick but all your friends saw how wasted you were so you will probably get a bit of ribbing that day and it will fade into obscurity…but sadly it was not to be.  I saw only shame…crushing painful shame…as he quickly avoided eye contact, put his head down, and ran out of the store.  I mean he ran…and fast.  Not just some quick footed walking…he was like Usain Bolt off a starting block or your sister at a shoe sale.   I felt the wind go by, which sucked because he crop dusted me a hint of what he left in the bathroom….and man was it horrible.  Worse than the Thanksgiving thing…like someone farted into morning breath mouth and blew it in your face.  The dude was also a hipster which really caused the bitter quotient to rise.  I wanted to take that scarf off his neck…it is San Diego in the summer so only a fucking moron or an inflatable snowman should be wearing a scarf…and wipe my ass with it but I really had to pee.  It was as bad as you would think, the smell forced me to suck air through my mouth and the whole bathroom was hastily and poorly cleaned.  All in all it sucked balls.  On top of that I then had to drink Starbucks coffee…a double whammy of epic proportions.  All this could have been avoided or at least kept to a minimum if the bathroom had more than one toilet.  All bathrooms should have either two stalls or a urinal and a stall.  That way you can get in early in the sequence to avoid the super stink or late enough to make a more reasoned decision on how important not soiling  your pants is.  If I had to do it over, I probably would have just pissed in my coffee cup and called it a day…no way it could taste any worse than the swill they serve every venti-frappe-mochi-machi-whipty-fuckty-day.

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