Tinkle Tinkle

        Know what sucks?  Public restrooms.  Well, for females at least. Guys have it easy.  They can pee any place they desire.  Outside on the tree in the backyard, in a potted plant, in an alley; it makes no difference really. (Not that I am saying it’s ok.)  But, we women are forced into nasty over used and under cleaned facilities.  Call me a bathroom snob, but very few public restrooms are up to par for my dainty booty!  Sometimes you walk in and everything is dripping wet!  It’s like you’ve stumbled upon a cave!  They are dank, dark, smelly, and just plain gross!  But alas, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

        First, is the task of locating the cleanest stall, assuming that you have a choice.  Some people kick each door in; however, I choose to gingerly push them with one finger.  While holding my breath, I survey the stall.  I’m looking for an empty bowl with zero signs of leftover poo, no TP on the floor but plenty on the roll, no signs of womanhood halfway hanging out of the trash, ideally a dry floor and no piddle on the seat.  Once I’ve made my choice, I take a breath.  Not a whiff, just a closed mouth (ALWAYS closed mouth) breath.  If I didn’t nearly pass out and my eyes didn’t water, I enter the stall.

        Now, this is an entire issue of its own!  It must have been a skinny man that was the inventor of bathroom stalls.  Firstly, the doors typically open inward.  This may seem like no big deal, except the door opens within two inches of the toilet seat.  Dumb.  That means that I need to either squeeze between the wall and the toilet seat (naturally, only if there is no smeared remnants of poo or boogers or whatever the hell people wipe all over bathroom walls!), or do the Toilet Seat Straddle.  The TSS, as we will call it, means you must bear hug your belongings, spread your legs wide enough to clear the seat, bend your knees and shimmy, shake, or walk your way into the stall like you are playing Operation, except instead of just getting a buzz for touching the sides, you get a flesh eating bacteria or herpes!  Once you completely enter the stall you can reach around and push the door closed using your foot (ideally, but requires a level 2 skill set of the TSS) or by using your hand or clothing covered booty.  Then you do the TSS in reverse!  What makes that all even more fun?  Winter.  A bulky coat, boots, and a guaranteed wet floor, seriously a good time!

       Once I’ve hung my items on the hook (God, I hope there’s a hook!) I begin the “Protection of the Nether Reigon” portion of potty time.  There are undoubtedly germs swarming the throne.  So protection is a priority.  First option is seat covers.  Usually provided in-stall.  I very carefully pull one out, taking extra caution on the sides to avoid rippage.  Then cautiously rip the perforations to open the seat of the liner.  I carefully place the liner on the seat and pray to all of the Gods that it stays put!  If there are no seat covers, then I have to employ a little bathroom arts and crafts and make one.  I will rip off strips of toilet paper and, with careful precision and order, I set them on the seat covering all surfaces.  Once the germ barrier is complete, I pray.  Always pray.  This is where I will quickly drop my drawers and double check that nothing has moved.  Cause frequently, one of two things will happen… 1) The toilet auto flushes. Or 2) A mysterious breeze comes along and blows away my cover.  As maddening as this is, I will repeat the entire process until I win.

*Side Note:  I have noticed, mostly in airports actually, that there is now a toilet seat that is equipped with a liner.  Basically when the toilet is flushed the liner replaces itself.  There is a machine of sorts on the back of the seat and the liner will roll into it and come out the other side.  Like it’s one continuous liner that in some way gets sanitized in the machine.       And I don’t trust it.       As a child of the modern world, I know how technology can go haywire.  How do we know that the sanitizer part of the machine is working?  Like the machine can rotate the liner in and out but what if the sanitizer portion malfunctions?  How would we ever know? I understand the concept, and kudos for going green, but I still think it is too risky for my caboose.

        Now it’s time to sit.  Or hover.  I typically prefer the hover method.  First, it’s a bonus leg workout.  Second, it avoids the hazards of sitting.  What hazards, you ask?  Well, as previously indicated, you could lose the liner and your precious flesh will land on the same seat that everyone else as peed and pooed on today.  Also, sitting brings you closer to the water.  This means when the auto-flusher flushes, your nether regions are subject to the fearful and dreaded backsplash!  Ew!!  Made worse by the level of bathroom cleanliness and/or whatever waste you’ve contributed to the bowl.  Ugh!  I feel sick just thinking about this catastrophe!  Finally, and almost as bad as backsplash, is a loose toilet seat.  This is most problematic when you shift on the seat to wipe, or whatever, and some booty or thigh meat gets caught all up under the seat.  It is literally the toilet seat biting you!  You will bleed, scream, and cry all in one movement.  Let’s not forget that now you have an OPEN WOUND in GERMTOWN!  UGH!   Anyway, the point here is to hover.  Sit when you need to but hover when you can.

        As a female, there is no shaking it off.  I must use the paper and wipe.  First of all, another design flaw of the potty stall, is the placement of the toilet paper roll holders.  They are almost on the floor.  In. Every. Single. Bathroom!  I have to bend waaay down (triggering the flippin auto-flusher) and do hand yoga to get up and under the holder to grasp the paper.  Seriously, this could be an Olympic sport and I’d like to think I would place well in my weight division.  Then I’ve gotta carefully pull the roll and hope that I manage to get more than a square at a time.  I feel more proud of myself for getting a 3 or more square section than I do for passing my college finals.  Mostly, it seems that public restrooms have rough transparent TP that rips off in small pieces.  It then becomes about getting a pile of pieces together that is large enough to do the job.  Alas, this cheap excuse for TP does a terrible job of cleaning up.  It slips faster than a roofie in a college bar and collects zero particles along the way.   After a few concentrated wiping efforts, I flush.

        I will not be one of those rude bathroom trolls that leave my “bidness” in the bowl for the next user to stumble upon.  So I gather my belongings and ensure the auto-flusher flushed.  If the toilet is manual, than I raise a leg and kick the button or lever.  I have seen some questionable residue on them and will NOT flush the toilet by hand.  Before I do that, however, I do the TSS to open the door and get out of the stall.  I fear a strong backsplash with the height capabilities to hit my face.   I think that holding my breath with a grimace helps somehow.  So I will stretch into the stall enough to flush then quickly and swiftly exit the stall.  After this, I wash up.

        I try to make this an easy task.  I look for a sink that is not covered in standing water.  Cause my foodie physique may touch the counter top and it’s not very attractive to have a water stain across the mid-section.  Not to mention, I don’t need to draw any extra attention to my soft body type.   I look for a dispenser that appears to have soap and then place my belongings in-between my legs.  I roll up my sleeves and turn the water on.  (Two things – why, for the love of God, do so many bathrooms lack hot water??  And what is the deal with the push faucets??)   I lather up and scrub partially up my arms cause germs are gross.  And then waddle, while still holding my stuff with my thighs, to the dryers or towels.  If I can pick, I choose towels.  I did a research project in school once and the blowers harbor bacteria that blows out onto your hand when they are activated.  So towels.  Then I grab my stuff and prep for my exit.  On the way to the door I grab a paper towel or two and use them as a barrier on the door handle if the door opens in.  If there is not a close trash can, I will hold open the door with my foot, take a leap back with my other foot, and then use my middle school H.O.R.S.E. skills to make the towel into the basket.  Easy peasy.  Not.

        Public places are gross.  I don’t think that janitors clean them like I would clean my home.  And one too many 20-20 shows have engrained suspicion and horror into my brain.  But at the end of the day, my bladder only holds so much.  And worse yet, my Crohn’s likes to come out and play whenever the hell it feels like it.  So, yeah.

I'm back!

Oh friends!  I am so sorry I have left you high and dry.  I have had several people contact me demanding more blogs. 
First let me say THANK YOU SOOO MUCH!!  I appreciate your support and encouragement, always!

Secondly, I am just returning from almost 3 weeks of vacation.  In sunny SoCal!  I flew out to visit my family and friends for a feel good vacay. And - It. Was. GLORIOUS!

I ate so much food and drank so much drank and laughed all the laughs and cried when I left.  I was long over due for both a vacation and seeing my family and spending time with my sisters!

I have a couple blogs in the works and will get something up soon.  I PROMISE!

For now, please enjoy these pictures from my vacay!

 

 

We saw Finding Dory at the El Capitan!

 

In-N-Out right off the plan!  Yes, please!

Day trip with my momma!

 

Hollywood Blvd.



Fresh Fruit!

                                       

Canvas painting with my dad and niece!

Loving some one-on-one with my beautiful niece!

 

Checked out some art museums

 

DISNEYLAND!

The BEACH!!

My sisters, my best friends.

 

Simple Life in a Busy World

        I work in a large hospital and see hundreds of people every day.  They come from all over to receive care in a hospital that is specialized in many, many fields.  For lots of those patients, coming here is an event.  This is a larger city than most of the Podunk towns they come from.  This hospital  employs more people that the total number of residents (and livestock) that typically live in those small home towns.  For many people its an unknown far advanced place that scares the bejeezus out of them!

        I am currently covering a vacation and that has placed me at a desk right off a set of elevators.  I am in an area in the hospital that is unique, as in the entire floor is locked off from everything else.  This is done as a safety measure given that we are in the business of birth up here.  Since people like to steal other people's babies, we make that difficult by secluding ourselves.  (Let it be known, to my knowledge, this has NEVER happened or truly been attempted - ie; I have never had to tackle anyone, though I have wanted to shank a cray-cray a time or two.)  This is a safety measure to make families feel safe after media has famed a couple baby-napping events.  And no, not napping like a siesta, napping like a five-finger discount.  (Also, we have other top secret security measures, so if you think you are ever gonna try something you better be wearing your clean underwear that day and I will also advise you to have all your final affairs in order.  I won't go into the details of my training with Sifu Whoopass and the CIA.)

        Anyway, this vacation coverage puts me in a highly visible spot.  I see troves of people walk off the elevator and instantly find themselves lost.  They point to signs and argue with each other quietly.  As I listen to them blame each other for getting turned around, I always offer to help.  Some people are too prideful and will tell me they know where they are going (yeeahh-oook).  Others will shamefully brave a smile and come to me for help.  They sometimes will tell me the room number that they are looking for (cause I know where all 2 billion rooms are in this place) or simply tell me the service they are trying to find (again cause I am a talking human directory).  Sometimes I can help them find their loved ones with a few phone calls or a patient name and my trusty computer. 

        My favorite is when they insist that someone is here that is not in fact here.  I will verify the name and service, and maybe the reason the patient is admitted, and still come up empty.  I then will suggest surrounding hospitals. That seems to be the ticket to how-dare-you-tell-me-I-am-wrong-ville.  Its a feat to get parked and into this hospital, so to be at the completely wrong hospital would even make Mother Theresa angry.   However, I do kinda love the inner victory when they get on the phone and righteously call the person they are looking for. They will complain that I don't know what I am talking about and ask them to verify where they are. Then that person informs them that they are at the wrong hospital. In my head I do a little jig and if they were really feisty, when the elevator doors close as they leave, I get up and grunt while doing one-arm push-ups on the desk.  (Not really, but I pretend that I am BA enough to get away with it.)

        Anyway, today a good old Iowa farmer got off the elevator.  And when I say farmer, I mean he all but rode his John Deere tractor to my desk.  He was a big man.  Wearing the classic plaid button up under his denim overalls (bibs as they are known around these parts), and a green, sweat stained, very loved, DuPont Pioneer cap. (I had to google that logo.)  His boots housed the soil from the land he spends his days working and his body swayed when he walked in a way that proves he's used it to its full potential.

        He takes a few steps off the elevator (which I refer to as the L cause it sounds swanky. "Java House? Take the L to F1."   "The Atrium?  Take the L to D7."  Side note - our elevators are in alphabet order - Elevator A, Elevator B, so on and so forth - so Java is at Elevator F floor 1).  He has a quick look around before he spots me.  Takes his hat off and rubs his old calloused farmers hands across his head attempting to fix his hat hair. "Scuse me ma'am, I think I may have found myself some kinda lost."
     "Well, you got lost in a good place cause I can help you!"   He chuckles.
     "Well, I'm not mighty shore 'bout that'n.  Yous yuppies o'er here shore like fixin big buildin's."
     "Yes, sir, we do!  A lot of people get lost around here.  Even I do!  But let me see if I can help you find what you are looking for."
     "You mean to tell me thad a young lady like you ain't have no fancy mo-bile phone with them finder on it?  You young folk shudn't be gettin lost.  Yous got that techno-ology yous always usin." He and I both are kinda laughing.  "You are right!  But believe it or not that fancy technology fails us some times and we still find ourselves lost.  Especially in a big ol confusing hospital like this one!"
     "Alrighty than, why don you see if you can tell me where da waitin room is."
     "Sure!  Are you waiting for a baby to be born?"
     "Nooooo ho ho ho," He laughs out a hearty no.  At this point he is so dang adorable I am just delighted and kinda laugh along with him.  "I shore ain't a waitin on no baby!  My boy is havin a surgery today.  An dey toad me I needed to take this'n elevator to 6.  I'm on 6, ain't I?"
     "Yes, sir, you are but I think  you wanna be on 6th over by elevator H."
     "Weeell, I'll be!  Shore ain't fixin to be takin a rugrat home!"  I tell him how to get to over to the waiting room he is looking for.  As he is waiting for the L to come take him to his destination, I let out a yawn.  He smiles and waves as he is telling me that a young lady shouldn't work so hard and that I good man should be doing that work for me. (I WISH!)  I smile and wave back as I am answering a call light.

        After a couple hours, and several more opportunities to play Super Finder, the L dings.  I look up and out walks my cute old farmer.  I ask him if he took the wrong elevator again.  He said no.  He told me he knew where he was headed this time.  In his hands he held two cups of coffee.  He slowly made his way to my desk and out stretched an arm offering me a cup.  While doing so he says, "My boy is out of the surgery but they ain't lettin me see um til he wakes up and them nurses say I can.  I figured by now yous be good n tired and I better be bringin you somethin to help.  Here ya are, (he squints to look at my id badge) Amber."  I thanked for his kind gesture and set the coffee on my desk.  He asks me if it would be a bother if he stayed in the area a little bit. Of course, I couldn't say no!

        He took a chair from the waiting room next door that I directed him to, and set it out a ways from my desk.  He took a seat and crossed leg over his knee than began to sip his coffee.  I help a few people and trade hellos to others as they busy about their days.  He then mentions that I haven't touched my coffee.  Weeeeellllll, you see, between you and I, I am a coffee snob.  I like espresso, soy milk, half flavors, no chocolate, and the lid and sleeve properly lined up with the seam of the cup.  See?  Snob.  The cup sitting in front of me has no sleeve (cause the farmers calloused hands probably have no feeling left in them!) and it's burnt, stale, black, hospital coffee. I raise it to my lips and plug the hole of the lid with my tongue as I pretend to have taken a sip.  He smiles with approval.

        Over the course of about 30 minutes, he spoke to me with his shaky old man voice and told me about his son, grandkids, farm, and wife.  He told me stories about raising pigs and cutting tails and nuts off of them when they were born and how that keeps them alive.  (I'm seriously slightly disturbed and I think he only told me those details to get the city girl reaction out of me.)  He watched me help several people in between our delightful visit.  He grunts and stretches himself out of the chair.  After returning it to its spot he slowly sways himself to my desk.  He rests on his knuckles against my desk and says to me, "Ms. Amber, yous been great company.  You are a purdy young lady and some good ole boy will be lucky to claim ya.  (I told him I was chronically single when he noted the lack of jewelry adorning my "I'm taken" finger.)  I been watchin ya with all those people and yous nice to everyone one of them.  Takes someone real special to be good with people like that'n.  That there's why I raise hogs. (He chuckles deeply).  I hope'n you don't mind me sayin so, but yous got a special heart and will make someone a real kinda happy someday."  I thanked him for his kind and gentle words and off he went taking the L to his son.

        I have thought so much about him.  It was so nice to be complimented like that.  But more so it was just nice to have a complete stranger find comfort in visiting and sharing his life with me.  He reminded me so much of my grandpa that as soon as the doors on the L closed my eyes teared.  I miss my grandpa so much and lots of these simple farmers that venture into the city remind me of him.  Today this farmer taught me more than the birth and life of pigs, he taught me to take time out for people.  Life is so busy and we don't take the time to just visit with each other.  We are caught up in our own lives that we forget how to be human and communicate with others.  He was a complete stranger and to him I was just a "yuppie" but he took time and came back to me.  I was on his mind and he took it upon himself to bring me gross hospital coffee and conversation.  Even when I was busy he quietly waited and then continued on in back and forth conversation.

        It is times like these that I am thankful that I am in good ole Iowa!  I am pretty sure that the same interaction would not have occurred in Los Angeles.  I'm certainly not saying that someone wouldn't have stopped to be kind.  But it's not every day that someone goes completely out of their way (and spends $2 on pricy crappy hospital coffee) to make someone else's day.

        So, tonight, where ever my farmer friend and his son are, I hope they are safe, happy, and healthy.  His kindness and gentle soul have left a lasting impression on my heart.  Be kind, my friends.