This was a popular entry on our family blog, so I have been requested to share it with you, my Whisk and Wander audience.... just so you are warned, the content of this entry may be rated PG-13 for grossness...

Toilet Talk:
A word, or maybe two on the horror of public restrooms....




One thing that I wanted to share, after using a number of public facilities in these last few months, from the ones on the trains in which the contents spill and splatter onto the railway below, (to the trains credit, it is FORBIDDEN to use these toilets when stopped at a station, for obvious reasons..thank god for that!) to the ones in public places, that are hardly ever cleaned (can you blame them?) and smell of……., well, you can fill in the blanks..

One thing I can never understand is why people don’t flush. If the option is there, is it that much of a hardship? I get so sick of seeing the wads of wet toilet paper in the bowl along with god knows what else, and then on top of that, seeing pieces of ‘debris’ on the seat.. yuk. The worst is when you see the person who exited before you, and you even make eye contact with them, before they casually look away.. and then you see the goodies they left you. It makes me want to turn around, catch them walking away after they just left their dirtied and soggy paper towels on the counter of the wash basin, and say, “WHY are you trying to punish me?”

Of course, today, this happened again. In the Museum of Modern Art. At this point, I just ignore it and go about my business. Pretend it isnt there…
And, like the good Samaritan that I am, I flushed when I was through…the thing is…only a dribble of water came forth instead of the usual forceful flow and I was left, in the stall, with a toilet full of soggy wads, and god knows what else. For a brief moment, I felt the horror of having to exit that very stall in plain view of the line of anxious women waiting their turn, pining for their fresh bowl.

I could picture it now, mingling amongst the Picasso masterpieces, the ladies pointing and in hushed tones..
‘Psss.. Estelle, she’s the one that didn’t flush..’

And then I realized, here was my chance for a little sweet, juicy revenge.
I walked out of that stall, head held high and looked the lucky woman in the eye.

I even smiled.