Here I Sit All Broken Hearted

It amazes me at times what you can see in a bathroom stall which the previous user really should have cleaned up.

The most common — and perhaps most disgusting (but please don’t offer up worse things, thanks very much) — are mystery trails of dried liquid.  Many a clueless man (I’ve talked to some of them) has sat there and thought “What a lousy paint job, to have missed those drips” or “The cleaning staff needs to wipe up the disinfectant dribbles better” before realizing that the drops are the seminal remnants of previous stall users.  Cum, that is.

What kind of an idiot feels the need to beat off in the bathroom stall at work, especially at a high tech company where the employees are in theory a bit better educated and refined?  (In theory.)  Are they wanking over the hot chick in Human Resources, or maybe the bear cub in Tech Support?  Do they do it in the middle of the day, while someone else may be grunting over squeezing out something else in the stall next to them?  Or are they working late, maybe cruising porn sites, and came in for quick relief?

But more to the point, why the fuck can’t they clean up after themselves?  Grab a little toilet paper and jerk off into that.  Or catch it in your hand and wipe the cum off from there.  Or for God’s sake, if you can’t control yourself any better than that, at least wipe off the wall when you’re done!  Are you trying to “mark your territory,” akin to a dog pissing on a tree?  Is there some secret thrill that you get from knowing that other people may come in later and see your dried slime trails?  And what does the mirror in your bathroom or the wall behind your bed’s headboard look like, since I assume that if you can’t be bothered to clean up the stall at work, you must not do it at home, either.

I guess the one thing to be thankful for with this is that I’ve never found the slime trails when they are wet.

But dried cum isn’t the only mystery substance to be found in the stalls.  (No, I didn’t find a baggie taped behind the toilet tank!)  This morning, glancing under the stall wall while using the urinal, I saw a bunch of short hair trimmings.  Three possibilities:

• The guy got a haircut on the way to work and was shedding clumps which the barber did a lousy job of brushing out.  I’ve had little shreds litter my papers and keyboard before, but this was a lot more than that.
   
• The guy trimmed his beard in the stall, probably while taking a dump — might as well do double-duty!  You would think over the bathroom sink would be more efficient, although
  maybe he had a mirror he hung on the back of the stall door.  But it sure looks like he would have ended up with prickly beard trimmings in his underwear.
   
• Or he was trimming his pubic hair in the stall.

Whatever.  Just clean the fuck up after yourself!

(Weblog Title Reference: From the infamous bathroom graffiti poem, “Here I sit all broken hearted / Tried to shit but only farted / Then one day I got the chance / Tried to fart but shit my pants.”)

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Updated on September 7, 2004 (less than an hour after initial post)

And let’s not forget spitting in the urinal but missing, leaving the loogie to drip over the side and congeal and dry into a frothy mass.  Ick!

Updated on April 19, 2011