Wednesday, 17 August 2011

"Your mum!" "Your face!" "Your mum's face!"

The key to an interesting blog are twofold: quality of content and frequency of updates. I am sorely lacking in both departments.

These are two anecdotes I recalled recently. I hope they will suffice. They're both about shitting in public.

First, a few thoughts. I am not one of those people who refuses to defecate in a public toilet. If I need to drop a stool, I'll drop one. I don't care where I am. Okay maybe that is not 100% correct - I would not go to the toilet in the frozen aisle of my local Asda, or off the side of a fishing boat but generally speaking most public toilets will suffice. I don't like toilets on trains or planes because they are too cramped, and generally speaking there is one door between you and everyone else you need to share the rest of your journey with. I don't want the woman sitting next to me on the train to hear my turds splash into bowl. In summary, I have no problem with shitting in public toilets.

"Having to lay a log in a lavatory I have never seen before? This is a nightmare!" "No, no it isn't."

One day, many moons ago, I was in a public toilet, sitting in a cubicle. I feel I don't need to describe exactly what I was doing - and if you feel I should then maybe you should re-read the above paragraph. There. Got it? I was having a dump. As I'm sitting there, I hear the door open and two people run in. I hear them laughing and shouting to each other, and it is clear that they are quite young children. The noise subsides and I can concentrate on the business to hand (so to speak). Then I hear something. Something strange. Something... slightly worrying.

"Tee hee hee!"

I'll be honest - it made me somewhat curious and slightly troubled.

And then I hear it again.

"Tee hee hee!"

By now I am starting to become more than slightly worried. And then I heard it.

"Tee hee hee! I can see your bum-bum!"

My face went exactly. Like. This.

By this point I was, naturally pretty freaked out. But it continued:

"Tee hee hee! I can see your bum-bum!"

By this point I was... shall we say "indignant". And, at the very least, furious.

This perverted child is going DOWN. Okay maybe not Malcolm-X-fighting-black-oppression levels of indignation and fury but, you know. Pretty miffed.

I pull my trousers up as quickly as I possibly can and practically kick the cubicle door open. Someone is going to pay. That was an obvious exaggeration - I couldn't kick down the door to a doll's house - but you get the idea. I survey the restroom with anger rushing through my veins and my brain already planning a suitably bile-filled verbal tirade. And then I see it. A kid, maybe seven years old, at the urinal pointing at his younger brother, also at the urinal, who has his trousers and pants around his ankles and his shirt lifted above his stomach.

Oh thank God. It wasn't voyeurism, just strange urinal technique.

Of course it wasn't some kid spying on me. He was laughing at his brother. With a sigh of relief that should have come immediately after me pushing out that food baby, rather than outside the cubicle looking at some children having a piss, I washed my hands and left.

Another time I was in a cubicle, this time have a wee. It was one of those filthy public toilets that appear to never be cleaned, with piss all over the floor and graffiti all over the cubicle walls. Out of curiosity I started to read the graffiti. Most of it was the usual moronic rubbish, but one piece of scrawled text in particular caught my eye:

"Be in here at 7pm on a Saturday to get fucked hard by a big hairy bear cock."

I knew for sure it was a Saturday. I nervously raise my watch to my eye-line to check the time. The dial reads... 19:00.

Once again, my face went exactly. Like. This.

Suffice to say I got out of there pretty quickly, pushing past a tall, bearded fellow in biker gear as I made my exit.

So there we have it, my adventures with public toilets. Coincidentally the latter half of the previous sentence will be the title of my autobiography. Working title.