No worries about material for the coming year.
Outside the door to our tiny little non-sound-proofed
under the stairs cubbyhole public restroom is a tall white “privacy”
screen extending from the edge of the stairwell wall out to around three
feet from it. We keep it there to provide the illusion that the
restroom door/sink/water-fountain area is actually separate from the
rest of the computer hall/reference room area. This is, of course, not
really the case, but we do it anyway because it amuses us.
When I came in yesterday, the screen had been pulled
over in front of the restroom door itself, blocking it off. A note on
the screen read, “This Restroom Has Been Closed For Cleaning.”
Aw, hell, I thought. This was bad news.
I went back up front, where Mrs. B, was womaning the circulation desk
“Uh… what’s up with the bathroom?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it got messed up by some of the UNOBSTRUCTED DOORS clients and MRS. A closed it off.”
Aw, hell, I thought again. My fears were now
fully realized. The mentally handicapped clients of the local
Unobstructed Doors group are infamous for voiding the warranties of
restrooms throughout the Tri-Metro area. We don’t generally have many
problems of this sort ourselves, though we’re absolutely certain that
the legendary Serial Shitter is among their number. We have, however,
heard horror stories about incidents at Town-C’s library branch, where
the former librarian there, Mrs. V, once had to threaten
one of the UD aides with a call to their supervisors to get the aide to go
back in and clean up the fecal festival one of the clients had had in
the restroom there.
Like I said, not a lot of that kind of thing at our
branch, but on occasion it does happen. Typically, when it does, the UD
aides wait until it is nearly time for them to leave anyway, then send
their clients into the restroom for one last "johnny" session before
they hit the road. On occasion, the clients use this opportunity to
befoul our restroom in most unholy ways. Then the aides gather up their
clients and flee the building before the mess can be discovered and
anyone can tell them to go clean it up. And on these occasions, I'm
almost always the guy to discover it, hours later, after everyone else
has left, and am then the guy who has to clean it up. In fact, I'd say
that if that restroom gets cleaned at all, it's usually me that does it.
And this was precisely my fear yesterday, as I stood quaking at the
If Mrs. A had baracaded the restroom door it was
obviously because it had not yet been cleaned. That she was saving it
for later at all did not bode well for me. Still, I kept quiet about it
and made no offers. I really didn't want to know what was in there.
Eventually, Mrs. A came downstairs. She saw the look on my face and said, "Don't worry. You don't have to do it."
Just to help make me feel even better about it, Mrs. A
described the carnage that awaited her in great detail. Evidently, the
UD aides had not checked out the restroom beforehand and did not note
that both the lid and the toilet seat had been left up. The first UD
client to go in didn't lower them before having a squat and wound up
defecating all over the porcelain rim as he slid around the bowl. The
aide failed to check the room after the first client and sent the next
one on in to add to the problem. It was a poo party chain-reaction from
Mrs. A said she now appreciated the tales I've spun
about the horrors I've seen in there. She could scarcely imagine anyone,
UD client or no, doing what was done in there by accident.
"Oh, I've seen things in that room that could not have
been done without forethought," I assured her. I would certainly not
count out the Artiste Factor in any of this.