Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Bathroom Blunders

Ladies, please.  Could you be a little less gross in public restrooms?  I know men get a bad rap for nastiness in the john, and it's really quite warranted.  However, we're not far behind.

One of my pet peeves is a sprinkler tinkler.  That is a woman who is so petrified of the toilet seat and what may be on it, that she hovers, sprinkles on the seat when she tinkles, and proceeds to exit the stall without cleaning up the drops.  Perhaps these women don't realize that they ARE the problem.  If everyone just sat their bums down on the seat, we wouldn't have various things ending up on seats that shouldn't be there.

Do I enjoy the idea of plopping unclothed areas of my body down on an item that has been touched by someone else's naked booty?  Of course not.  But common sense and decades of research filter into my head when I enter a stall, reminding me that I'm really not going to catch anything.  And a simple wipe of the seat with toilet paper is more than sufficient to remove any lingering particles.  If that's not good enough, toilet paper makes a nice buffer between your tush and the allegedly diseased seat.

Another character I dislike in women's bathrooms is the foot flusher.  I've recently learned that this concept is new to many men.  For those of you still in the dark, this is the woman who is so disgusted by the thought of touching a toilet handle that she instead hobbles around on one foot, trying to lift the other high enough to flush the toilet.  I've been in stalls next to women who outright fall against the stall or nearly stumble over trying to perform said maneuver.  Perhaps they should think of how dirty the stall walls are before grabbing hold of them for balance, or the horribly repulsive nature of the floor should footing completely be lost and the perp ends up falling into a puddle of questionable contents.
Don't do it.  Seriously, don't.

I found that most men (whom, I might add, flush urinals with hands that have been handling much more sensitive and germ ridden things.  Think about it.) who hear about foot flushing outright laugh at it, thinking it's a joke at first.  I just find it rather asinine.  The argument I've heard for foot flushing is that there are germs on the handle.  Really?  There are germs on EVERYTHING.  That handle has the same number of germs as the door you had to open to get into the stall, the lock you have to close and then open to get out, the faucet you touch to turn the water on, the paper towel dispenser or air dryer you push to dry your hands and the door handle you push to get out of the bathroom.  We don't do any of these things with our feet, do we?  And considering you really should be going directly from the stall to the sink to wash up anyway, I'm pretty sure that 30 seconds of germs on your hands from the flusher won't kill you.  I'm going to say again that these women ARE the problem.  If everyone used their hands instead of some using feet, the toilet handles would be far cleaner.  No worrying about what some person tracked in on their shoes ending up on your hands.  But again, I stress the practice of going immediately to the sink to wash up after flushing as a cure-all. 

Lastly, (this is not my final gripe about restroom behavior in general, it is simply the last I will burden you with here) I think it is unfortunate that I have to mention the need to flush.  While this is not solely a women's bathroom problem, men clearly need to flush less often in public restrooms, and it's therefore a less pressing issue.  Apparently there are some adults out there who never mastered the flushing concept as toddlers, and somehow as luck would have it, I seem to be in line behind them in the restroom.  There's this not-so-new invention being adopted in more and more bathrooms--toilets that flush automatically.  This innovation saves us from the foot flushers, but is far from perfected.  Few toilets I have used seem to have a fully functioning electric eye.  I have let out more than a few curse words at overly sensitive models that end up flushing three times while I'm still seated and proceed to spray me with who knows what from the bowl.  Then there are the ones that never really seem to flush, even after I get up and get ready to leave the stall.  We've all been there.  But you know what we all HAVEN'T done, apparently?  Reach back to that little button over the electric eye and PUSH IT when the toilet doesn't flush on its own.   This is not a hard concept people, but for some it appears to be rocket science.  You've been potty trained for years, so if you don't hear the familiar swirling behind you after you've done your business, you're not done yet.  Turn around and push that button.

Push the button. You know you want to.
The worst automatic flush offender I have ever experienced was a woman at work.  Our office shares a bathroom with other offices on the floor, so I didn't know this woman, thank goodness.  I was doing my thing and she was next to me and finished first.  She walked out of the stall and there was no flush.  I flushed, went to the sink to wash and noted that she was washing her hands as well.  She must have suddenly realized there was no flush when she exited the stall, so she went back to the stall, held the door open and looked in. Mind you, I can see this all happening very clearly because our restroom only houses three stalls.  She stood there and looked at the contents of the toilet with the stall door open for a full 5 seconds, during which time I could see that it definitely was not "number one" in there.  After standing there and looking at her toilet mess, she STILL DIDN'T PUSH THE BUTTON and proceeded to walk out of the bathroom.  Who does that?  What is wrong with people like that who see what they've done and still don't try to get rid of the mess?  And just plain EEEEEWWWWWWW.

I'm going to completely leave out lesser, but definitely annoying, restroom offenses such as cell phone talking (you better believe I'm going to make a bunch of noise and flush a lot if I hear you on the phone in there), talking to ME while I'm doing my thing (I probably will ignore you so don't try it in the first place), hogging sink space to do your primping while I am trying to get in to wash my hands (I'll probably splash you if you don't move), and of course, choosing a directly adjacent stall when there are others available farther away from me.

Look, having to use a public restroom is never something we really seek out or enjoy.  We do intimate things in there that we have to pretend nobody else sees or hears.  But we can lessen the unpleasantness by just employing a few courteous strategies.  1. You are not a helicopter, so don't hover.  2.  You are not a karate master, so keep your foot down when flushing.  3. You are not a president deciding whether to wage nuclear war, so you SHOULD push the button.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Dirty Thirty

Everything I need to know, I learned in my thirties.  At least, that’s how I feel so far.

As a friend of mine has only a couple of weeks left before she turns 30, she’s reminiscing on her 20s and pondering what lies ahead.  It’s making me take a look at my “dirty thirties”, even though I’m only a couple years in.  So far, I’m liking it at least as much as my 20s, if not more.  That's contrary to my previous belief that my life would completely end at 30.

Kara said she had exceeded her goals, plans and aspirations for her 20s, which I think is certainly an admirable accomplishment.  How many people can truly say that?  She then asked what to look forward to in her 30s.  My response was “Satisfied contentment. Wisdom. Clarity.”  

Back in the old days, when I was actually in my 20s, I had heard “old people” make such foolish statements like their 30s are awesome, they don’t miss the meat-market bar scene, and (gasp!) it’s nice to stay home on Friday nights sometimes.  Now that I am one of said “old people” I have to say it’s completely true.

Just like countless other people teetering on the precipice of 30, I encountered a small crisis months, then weeks, then days, then mere minutes before the big day.  I was questioning whether I had accomplished everything I wanted to, and feared the certain rapid decline that lay ahead.  Amazingly, the instant I hit the landmark, everything changed.  I realized instantly that the few things I didn't get around to by 29 could easily happen later in life.  I know that others sometimes continue feeling woeful of lost youth well into their thirtieth year.  However, I was lucky enough to break the painful shackles of age fear as soon as midnight hit that fateful night.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel cheated for staying home on a Friday night instead of mingling with dozens of friends at a happy hour.  It became OK to drink wine regularly instead of cheap beer.  Not just wine, but good wine priced at more than $3 a bottle.  Gardening, cooking and sewing became “fun” instead of “lame.”

Granted, there are definitely downsides to being older as well.  I don’t like having to watch what I eat more carefully.  Gone are the days when I can down an entire frozen pizza, a side of chips and salsa, leftover piece of chicken and half a tub of ice cream.  Although my appetite is extremely healthy even today, I have to moderate my intake to say, just the frozen pizza and a scoop of ice cream. And maybe a little bit of that leftover chicken.  Honestly though, now that I can afford to eat better (instead of working 3 jobs and only being able to buy rice, ramen and cereal) I find myself trying to regulate the junk I put in my body.  I suppose that’s another part of getting older—realizing you’re not invincible, and what you do to your body really will come back to bite you later.

Do I love all of the little laugh lines and creases, saggier skin and dark eye circles?  Heck no.  Am I a fan of being more negatively affected by lower quantities of alcohol?  *sigh* Of course not.  Do I like being called “ma’am?”  Look, you can think I’m older than I am.  You can ask me for advice on life, love and the wonders of being over 30.  On certain occasions, I’ll even allow you to call me a cougar.  But whatever you do, if you value your life, Don’t.  Ever.  Call.  Me.  Ma’am.

Anyway, also disturbing is the decrease in energy.  I’m an active person by nature, so this is the hardest for me to deal with.  My sleep schedule is shifting a bit and I often feel tired for no reason whatsoever (good grief, imagine if I had kids!).  But for every physical drawback, another emotional boon presents itself.   

I no longer feel the need to constantly surround myself with large numbers of people.   Although that’s sometimes fun, sharing good times with a few solid friends is more important.  And about all those lines, creases and sags?  Amazingly, I’m more comfortable with it now than I ever would have been at 27.   People get older, people get less attractive, and life goes on.  There’s something really satisfying about not caring that those extra three chicken wings very well could add an extra three dimples to my thighs.

To a certain extent, I’ve always lived a “who cares” kind of life.  I’m independent, and I love it.  Heaven knows I don’t stand on ceremony and usually speak my mind.  But there’s something about turning 30 that really, truly made me believe beyond my previous surface comprehension that I don’t give a crap what other people think.  I’m happy with my life and who I am, and anyone who doesn’t like it doesn’t matter.  Perhaps that’s a combination of the “satisfied contentment” and “clarity” I told Kara about.

The wisdom part has also proved priceless in the workplace.  All the young-20s hubris which accompanies nearly every person entering the workforce… well that has luckily fallen to the wayside.  I look at 22-year-old Katie and some of her thoughts, and even worse yet, some of the things she said out loud about her place in the workforce and I shudder.  Like most others at that age, at times I acted as though I was the first person to ever do that job, and nobody could present better ways of operating.  I had NO clue, and didn’t even realize it.  Not that I really have one now, but at least I can admit that.

I now look at early 20-somethings when I’m out and watch their hyperactive actions while listening to their conversations, which are windows into how their brains operate.  It’s incredible, because I can remember saying exactly the same things with similar fervor and bubbliness in those same situations.  Now I look back on some of those things and laugh at myself for possessing such conviction about things I knew nothing about, or for just plain being a spaz.

In a way, getting older seems like a fast-forward mode of evolution.  While generations of animals will evolve too slowly to see their own adaptations such as tail loss or the addition of fur, we get to see in mere years how our brains have transformed.  We can see in our 30s the characteristics of our 20s that we have shed or improved upon to become better, more whole people.  

So to my dear friend, Kara, I say suck the last gasps of life out of your 20s right up until the very moment you no longer can.  But don’t look back in sadness, longing or regret.  And don’t look ahead with fear or trepidation.   I really think you’re going to love what you find on the other side of the bridge.  In my opinion, the Dirty Thirties are what I have been waiting my whole life for, and I’m excited to see what else lies ahead.  Ask me what I think of THAT again when I’m in my 40s.