It doesn’t really matter what sort of establishment you’re in, the men’s restroom is the most disgusting room in the building.
I don’t know what it is about guys when they are released into nature, but leaving floaters, missing your intended target or, if they use the sink, leaving it looking like a monsoon just swept through … all of this is pretty typical. I’d hate to see what their home bathrooms look like.
As a guy, unless the bathroom smells Porta-Potty bad or a toilet is overflowing, you rarely notice these things. It’s almost like men are conditioned to accept that the bathroom is a restaurant’s filthy version of a Man Cave.
You don’t realize how bad it can be until you have to take your daughter in there.
I had gone to lunch at an upscale Orange County Mexican restaurant with an old friend from college because she was visiting from the East Coast. As we’re catching up over margaritas, my kid wakes up and my friend, obviously, wants to hold her.
Everything is going well and we’re midway through our meal when my daughter has a explosion that would seem like she were the one eating Mexican food. So much so that it comes out of the side of her diaper and onto my friend’s jeans.
Honestly, even though I was mortified, I was still kind of proud of my kid. This verifies that she is just another in a long line of tremendous poopers.
Fortunately, my friend has a pair of four-year old twins so it’s not the first time she’s been shit on. But, for the same reason I wasn’t going to let my kid sit in an overfilled diaper, I wasn’t going to let my kid sit on my friend’s lap with an overflowing septic tank begging to act like Old Faithful. Off I went to the bathroom, kid extended at arm’s length, to take care of business.
Now, remember, this is an upscale restaurant … but it’s still a men’s room.
There was no changing table inside, so I had to make due on the floor of an unoccupied stall. As I lay my daughter down on a changing mat that I opportunely had, the whole men’s bathroom as a repulsive respite began to hit me.
Apparently my daughter wasn’t the only one experiencing a blowout, as evidenced by the neighboring stall. A guy standing in front of a urinal had a steady stream … of farts and spit. Another guy was coughing.
My poor baby. Here she was, a thin piece of plastic between her and a sordid floor and with surround sound of an orchestra of men at their worst. I just kept apologizing to her. For the situation. And for men in general. Probably won’t be the last time I have to apologize to her for men.
Normally I am a pretty quick diaper changer, but in this case I felt agonizingly slow. I didn’t want her rolling off her little mat, so I was over-cautious in everything I did. Plus, I had to change her outfit too, which just added to the whole shitty situation. And the entire time I’m thinking Will someone please wash their hands?!
I couldn’t get us out of there quick enough even though I was going at the pace of an 80-year-old on a golf course. All I wanted to do was slather my baby in Purell when I got home.
And the throughout it all I’m just thinking Yep, this is what my life has become.