Toilet Humor

Humor is a subjective thing.  For the purpose of this post... I'll leave it at that.  For those of you who are easily offended, you may want to skip this one.   

My current office is located on the main floor of a small professional building.  On that level there are four offices (including mine), a foyer, plus his and her bathrooms.  The majority of the time, I'm the only soul to be found on that floor.  The remaining offices are rarely used when I'm there.  It's not a bad set up.  I actually kind of like it that way. 

The main action in our building happens downstairs.  The other employees work down there.  And since I've been working at this location, there's been anywhere from one to three other people in the basement at any given time.  It's a small business.  We're a close knit group.

On most days, I go hours without seeing anyone else. (again, I'm not complaining).  If it wasn't for the fact that the bathrooms are on MY floor, I could probably spend the entire week in isolation.  However, BECAUSE the bathrooms are located on my floor, my main interaction with the others occurs in those special moments when they're just entering or just leaving the John. 

For the purposes of what's to follow... there are a few more things you should know about our company. We're all male.  We're all around the same age.  And, we're all unfortunately candid about our bodily functions. Unsurprisingly, this combination can make these little pre-and post-evacuation vignettes educational, hilarious AND the highlight of my day. 

For instance, one day one of my coworkers (in a rush to relive himself) told me he was "pushing cotton".  That was a new one for me (educational).  Once I visualized it in my head, I laughed for about an hour.

I think they enjoy putting on these little comedy shows for me.  I'm often hit with a pre-bathroom witticism, a post-bathroom quip, or the always amusing "funny sounds" while they're actually in there. This last category can be my favorite, especially when their hoots and shouts are immediately followed by a text message describing what just happened.

On the not so funny side, we had one employee who's eating habits, were let's just say... less than exemplary. All his meals were fast food.  As such, his trips to the bathroom were an adventure.  It's not completely accurate to say he was regular, because the condition he left the restroom on a daily basis was the most irregular thing I've ever seen.  I could go on... but I won't.

Which brings me to my next point.  I understand the purpose of the fruity, bathroom cover-up spray.  I just wish the companies that made them would produce single serving sizes.  Nobody seems to dispense the correct amount.  My coworkers either use way too little or way too much of it.  The "way too little" camp shouldn't even bother.  The combined smell of what they just did, and what they just sprayed (no pun intended), is unsettling.  In one instance, an especially methane-y outburst, combined with the fruity cover-up spray, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting up from the basement had my whole office smelling like a Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast... and not in a good way. 

And this brings me to yesterday.  One of my fellow employees has been under the weather this week.  He's also the one employee who typically does not engage in these bathroom frivolities.  He's in... he's out... there's no commentary.  But after lunch yesterday, he entered the restroom and stayed in there for a long time. In fact, he was in there so long that I became worried.  When he finally did emerge, he made a b-line for the stairs to head back down to the basement.  As a concerned coworker I called out, "are you okay"?  Without skipping a beat, he said, "if that was a soup... I wouldn't order it".

I'm not sure how anybody's going to top that, but I'm sure they'll try.

What's up... Doc?

I'm not a big fan of doctors.  Actually, that's not true.  Doctors themselves are alright.  In fact, most of the ones I've encountered are pretty good dudes/dudettes.  I'm sure there are some who aren't, but I've had uncharacteristically good luck with the ones I've met.  Even more... there are some to which I will be forever indebted (you know who you are). 

I guess what I really don't like is going to the doctor's office.  Well... that's not exactly true either.  Besides the fact that they're usually filled with mutated hordes from the zombie apocalypse, there's nothing inherently wrong with the office itself.  In fact, out of all the places I am forced to sit and wait (oil change, barber shop, jury selection), the doctor's office can be quite pleasant. 

it hurts when I do this

Maybe I don't like going to the doctor because I hate being sick.  Well... duh.  Everyone hates being sick.  Anyway, I really don't get sick often and haven't needed to go to the doctor for that many emergencies.  In my 43 years, I'm still the proud owner of:  my tonsils, my appendix, all my wisdom teeth, and every other organ I was born with (foreskin not included).  I've had a few minor issues, but nothing to get excited about.  Besides stitches for the usual childhood stupidities, my procedures have included two endoscopies, one colonoscopy and a sinus surgery.  But (and I'm not bragging here), they all were performed through "holes" I already had... so I don't even have the scars to prove I was there.

Before we go any further, let me say just a little bit about my doctor... he's awesome.  I've known him for over 25 years.  We graduated high school together.  Back then, he was better than me at... well, everything.  He was better at playing the saxophone (he was first chair and I was second).  He got way better grades than I did (in the harder classes, too).  AND by all accounts he's turned out to be a much more fully developed grownup than me. 

my real doctor is cool enough to know who this is

Keeping all that in mind, I'll go ahead and put this out there.  I think I know what my hesitation is.  You see, the real reason I'm reluctant to visit the doctor is... um... well, how can I put this... okay, I'll just blurt it out... let's just say it may be because of a procedure that rhymes with, oh I don't know... "frostate exam".  There... I said it!  Whew!

See, I'm over 40 now... so I'm due to be checked out.  Plus, there's a family history of issues... so I'm probably overdue.  It's just that at the end of the day... I really don't want to.  I mean, what's to stop him from surprising me with it (not like on the street or anything, but during a normal appointment)?  My biggest fear is him simply walking into the exam room one day wearing lubricated rubber gloves with a "let's get this party started" look on his face.

wanna see a magic trick?

Now some have argued that I chose my doctor for strategic purposes.  Besides his wonderful qualifications as a physician and his impeccable reputation as an individual, I may have had ulterior motives.  Think about it, considering our shared history and our general good feelings toward each other... I'm pretty sure he's looking forward to digging around back there even less than I am.  And you know what?  I'm fine with that.

Getting in Touch

I’ve come to realize that maybe I’m not the manliest man in the world. Of course, by definition there’s only one of those guys, and he’s probably out hunting alligators, or pterodactyls, or giant aliens (think Chuck Norris crossed with MacGyver a la Jeff Goldblum’s Brundlefly).  So, while I’d love to judge myself against this alpha male juggernaut, I’ll base my analysis on more every day, run-of-the-mill, standards. 

Dandruff used to make Viagra

Here’s how I know I’m letting my Y-chromosome down:

Mowing:  I don’t mind mowing (although I’d much rather watch someone else do it).  My problem is that I can’t mow a straight line.  I’ve never been able to.  Sure, I eventually get the entire yard done.  But, instead of it looking like a pro baseball stadium with perfectly parallel lines… my yard looks like a seismograph reading after a tsunami warning. 

Hand shake:  I’ve been shaking hands for over 30 years.  To this day, there’s still about a 60% chance I’ll end up in the submissive… he’s only got hold of my fingers… grip.  It’s so humiliating.  And the best part is… there’s nothing I can do about it except spend the remainder of the meeting talking about how much I scored with the babes in college (you haven’t even shaken my hand and you know that’s a lie).  During the off chance that I actually get a good grip, my hand is usually crushed by the other party.   Did I miss a class on that in high school?  Seriously?

Kneel before Zod

Hunting:  I don’t hunt.  That’s not because I’m against it or anything.  It’s just something I’ve never done.  Parts of it sound like fun, but I’m old and lazy now and don’t have time for a hobby.  I was recently asked by another dad at my son’s soccer practice if I hunted.  I said “no”.  The look of pity/disgust he gave me was similar to the one I received from the "winners" after my one and only loss at strip poker.

These things don’t help either:

Sewing:  Yes… my wife bought me a sewing machine for Christmas a couple of years ago.  It was on my list.  Let’s just drop it.

Toys:  I collect toys.  Go ahead, you can call them dolls.  Those of us in the know understand that they’re really action figures.

So, while there may not be one giant “smoking gun” to identify me as “less than manly” to the casual observer, there are plenty of magic bullets strewn about to raise suspicions.  Oh well.  I’ll get over it.  Besides… they’re doing the battle rounds on The Voice tonight.  That and some ice cream usually cheers me up.

Ads/Schmads

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, I spent over 18 years in advertising.  In that time I learned many important things.  Most of which, I've already forgotten.  However, one truth has always stuck with me... "fake advertising is always easier (and more fun) to make than real advertising".

So with that in mind, I've decided to populate my blog with fake ads.  These ads are NOT for real businesses or products, so please don't be alarmed.  I'm just doing this for fun.  In addition to the ones I've completely made up, you'll find a few ACTUAL concepts I pitched to real bosses and clients (all of which died instant, ugly deaths).  Here's one for example...

this one actually came close to happening

Chances are I'll offend you with at least one (hopefully more) of these ads.  If so, I apologize in advance.  If not, I'll try harder.  I've got a few in the stable ready to go.  As I post new blog entries, I will try to replace the ads as well. 

Thanks again for your support.

Bless you

As an internal battle rages between the rum from last night and the three Taco Supremes consumed moments ago, I can’t help but wonder about my recent decision making prowess.  At the time, both choices seemed logical.  In retrospect, maybe not so much.  When will I learn?

On a positive note, I did make one good call yesterday.

My sons’ school had a “Donuts with Dad” event (not to be confused with the “Muffins with Mom” hootenanny from last fall).  Before the first bell rang, Dads were invited to have a donut with their offspring in the cafeteria.  I don’t know about you, but this Dad never misses a crack at free donuts. 

As I entered the school with my two boys, the popularity of this idea was immediately apparent.  A long line stretched out of the cafeteria and continued 40-50 feet down the hall.  The gathering of excited children and hungry Dads was impressive. 

As we took our proper place at the end of the line one thought popped into my head.  I was reminded of those police sting operations you hear about on the news.  You know… the ones where criminals are told that they’ve won a big screen TV and when they show up to collect… they’re cuffed and thrown into a waiting squad car.  This “free donut” ploy was definitely a way to gather a bunch of unsuspecting Dads in one place.  Maybe that rolling violation from 1995 had finally caught up with me.

The white line around the STOP sign does NOT mean it's optional!

However, as we progressed through the line and entered the cafeteria… my fears were calmed.  Not only were there WAY too many Dad’s to throw into a fleet of squad cars… I saw at least three exits that weren’t covered by uniformed personnel. 

That’s when it happened.

In the center of the room stood a long table brimming with donuts and juice.  The donuts were located on the far end.  Cups of apple juice were in the middle and at the side nearest to us stood a young girl pouring orange juice into small white cups.  She was probably a 4^th or 5^th grader who had been quickly drafted (probably against her will) into duty to help calm the overwhelming horde of hungry Dads.  As we approached the table, she was furiously pouring OJ as if her life depended on it.  When we got to be 3^rd or 4^th in line, I saw her pour a juice and set the cup down.  In the next motion, her hands went to her face. 

Now I’m not one to judge… but what happened next is generally considered unacceptable behavior in the food handling industry.  The sneeze that came out of this poor girl’s face was epic.  The good news was that her hands were there to block it.  The bad news was that a snot roughly the size, shape and color of a Brazilian tree frog escaped her nose.  Embarrassed, she quickly looked around to see if anyone else working the table had noticed.  Satisfied that they had not, she immediately wiped her hands on her pants and began pouring more glasses of juice.

now imagine grosser and no tissue.

Needless to say, my excitement for “Donuts with Dad” waned.  As my sons and I approached the crime scene, I quickly shoved them past the orange juice to the far end of the table where the donuts were safely outside the sneeze spray radius.  As they each grabbed a glazed beauty, I abstained.  My appetite lost.

Now please don’t take this post the wrong way.  As a father of a ten year old and an eight year old, I totally felt for the girl.  I see grosser things happen on a weekly basis.  And I do hope she’s feeling better.  However, I apologize to anyone who was behind us in line that may not be feeling 100% today.   In case you missed it, the juice was loose.