Last week I asked Mrs. C if it would be okay to put up a sign on the back of the restroom door that read: "If you make stinky in this restroom, please be so kind as to use the provided can of Airwick. Thanks."
a project that needs serious consideration. After all, the vast
majority of patrons who have a poo in our tiny, unventilated,
non-sound-proofed, one-toilet, no stall public restroom never even
consider using the provided air-freshener afterwards. In fact, I don't
think it would be going too far to say that a patron actually using the
air-freshener would be an unprecedented event. I figure if we put the
sign on the back of the door only people actively making a "stinky" will
see it, might actually read it and might actually become inclined to
use the air-freshener to cut the stench they leave behind.
get me wrong... as my wife will readily attest, I'm no stranger to
being the root cause of stanky bathrooms myself. However, when I know
I'm about to befoul a confined space, in proximity to a public area,
which, as soon as the door is opened, will unleash my by-product upon an
unsuspecting world, I use some damn air-freshener, or light a match or
pull the fire-alarm or something.
Not our patrons. No
sir. They just let fly and walk away. We should probably count ourselves
lucky that they even flush. It's like they're proud of what they've
made and want everyone to get a whiff. This, in turn, causes me to want
to chase them around the library with a can of Lysol and a lighter. Or sometimes a hose.
just the restroom olfactory adventures we have, we have patrons who are
just naturally eye-wateringly stinky. One lady in particular either
doesn't bathe very often or just eschews the use of "de-funk" in
general, because she can light up a room with B.O. And once, around 2
years ago now, we were paid a visit by the Stinkiest Man Ever.
He's not on the Rogues List because he only visited the one time, but
his stench has been seared into the memory centers of my brain. He was
like Pigpen from Peanuts as an adult. In addition to being
revoltingly-stinky, he was also the owner of the worlds filthiest,
too-tight red T-shirt, which was doing a less than admirable job of
covering his lumpy hide. Mr. Stanky wanted to borrow an atlas from us.
We don't loan out atlases, but I very nearly gave our copy to him and
wrote the book loss off as a hazard of doing business. Instead, I sent
him upstairs with it, where he promptly drove off every patron up there
except Ron the Ripper,
who probably enjoyed it. After Mr. Stanky left, I had to hold my breath
and run for the bathroom to retrieve our kitchen-strength can of Airwick, which I emptied in an attempt to fight back the evil presence he'd left behind.
related Stanky Patron news... my friend Glen works in a library located
in a southern state known for its spicy food and government corruption.
(Heheheh, try to narrow that one down from the clues provided.) If
anyone should be writing a "liberry" blog, it's Glen, as he's just a
damn genius, funny as hell in general and his observational skills are
saber sharp. Shortly after I began working at my library, he wrote me to
compare notes on problem patrons.
Glen wrote: "My
patrons smell like dusty turds. I'm serious. From day one, I noticed
this peculiar odor about my branch and quickly traced it back to the
patrons. It took some time to satisfactorily classify the scent for
myself but in my second week while listening to some woman go on about
how she `paid that fine fo' weeks ago,' I thought: `Lady, you smell just
like a dusty turd. That's it, by golly!' Imagine a long lost link
sitting on top of a bean pie in the bottom of a tool box and there you
go. It's amazing. It must have something to do with diet. Or a
propensity to roll around in aged feces. I don't know."
Incidentally, Mrs. C gave me permission to put up my sign.