Mad Hot Bathroom, pt. 1

“Jesus god, strike a match!” A. says as he recoils from our apartment bathroom.

This really works, you know. The sulphury smell covers all hint of evil bad wastes in your toilet.

At work, there is an ongoing debate between everyone about the bathroom situation. As most Colitisites will agree, I’m incredibly fortunate to have a ladies’ less than twenty paces from my desk, and the best part is that it’s a giant, private single-seater, larger than my office space. The single bit is what most of my colleagues do NOT like.

“Really, it’s big enough, we should just set up some stall walls and put in another toilet, because it’s so inconvenient,” R said.

“Why? Is it that hard to go downstairs? What’s the big deal? I think it’s nice.” I started sweating and tried to slow down. “Um. It’s just a bathroom. No problem.”

I LOVE this bathroom. Althought there is the wild one, her identity as yet a mystery, who comes in every day about noon and can’t seem to tear off toilet paper larger than a shred (which she then deposits on the floor and tries again, till it’s a ticker tape parade in there).

There is the woman who, WITHOUT FAIL, comes whilst I am in the middle of a particularly noisy expression; she trips up in her spike heels, raps on the door twice and then without pausing leverages her entire strength and body weight against the frail deadbolt. It faltered yesterday, and I sat frozen with my pants definitely nowhere near my ankles. But she didn’t notice her near success, and after heaving a tortured sigh, trip-trapped away again. She sounds light and airy on those heels, but she has the power of a pissed rhino.

There is the mad perfumer, who thinks that if she sprays enough scent no one will know she does what all women do, and there is the avid hand washer who does not lock the door (she’s only washing her hands!) and then you rush in undoing your belt while she’s lathering up. (Possible porno opener?)

Lately, I’ve been smelling a whiff of smoke in there. It’s not the stale tanginess of cigarettes. Someone, I have not found out who, is Jesus-god-lighting a match to spare us all.

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