No storyella this week, at least not yet, but for the sake of quasi-persistent content I need to at least share a bathroom discovery. It's a little baffling.
Here's the thing - in the public bathroom at my workplace, like many public bathrooms, there are little seat protector dispensers mounted inside the stalls. They're usually empty, so you either have to embark upon the delicate and frustrating task of placing toilet paper on the seat, only to have it blow off in a stray breeze just as you're about to sit on it...or...roll the dice, go unprotected, and hope "Messy Jared" wasn't the last occupant.
In any case, this really isn't so much about haunch hygiene as about the little notebook that happened to be stuffed into the seat protector dispenser. A spiral-bound, half-size notebook with a pen stored in the spiral binding.
Between the resident pen and its generally weatherbeaten appearance, I assumed it was a work notebook in active use that someone took into the bathroom with them. To...review notes...or something. And since I wanted to be the good coworker and return the notebook to its rightful owner, I braved the dangers of Inviso-Feces and plucked the thing out of its holding spot.
Now, I don't consider myself nosy, really. I mostly don't care what other people are saying, doing, or writing as long as it doesn't interfere with my eating or sleeping. But, I did need to know who the thing belonged to, so I could return it, so I flipped through the thing to try to discreetly discover the owner's identity.
And, strangely, in this apparently well-used notebook of possibly 150 pages, complete with fairly expensive pen attached, only five pages had anything on them. Pages 2 and 3 had hand-drawn baroque curlique-border-flourish things, like you might see embellishing a turn of the century (the last one, not this one just 8 years ago) stock certificate. Or a certificate of completion from the Westchester School of Byzantine Mincing.
Page maybe-19 had a drawing of what I think was a bloodshot eye. The quality of art we're talking here is something like talented-eight-year-old or mid-life-crisis-accountant. Which is to say, better than anything I could do, but still not for public consumption.
Page something-like-62 had the heading "Phrases and Terms," and then followed with "vitriol," "mendacious," "choler," and something in French. I think it was "J'ai un morceau de votre pied," but I don't speak French, so I can't be sure.
Finally, page-approximately-81 had a handwritten list which I found so unsettlingly perplexing that I had abandon the notebook for the next intrepid Samaritan.
But not before copying it down on another page to take with me.
So I could share it with you.
And thus I present to you the list in its entirety:
Yeah, okay, maybe Esperanto.
But still.
Here's the thing - in the public bathroom at my workplace, like many public bathrooms, there are little seat protector dispensers mounted inside the stalls. They're usually empty, so you either have to embark upon the delicate and frustrating task of placing toilet paper on the seat, only to have it blow off in a stray breeze just as you're about to sit on it...or...roll the dice, go unprotected, and hope "Messy Jared" wasn't the last occupant.
In any case, this really isn't so much about haunch hygiene as about the little notebook that happened to be stuffed into the seat protector dispenser. A spiral-bound, half-size notebook with a pen stored in the spiral binding.
Between the resident pen and its generally weatherbeaten appearance, I assumed it was a work notebook in active use that someone took into the bathroom with them. To...review notes...or something. And since I wanted to be the good coworker and return the notebook to its rightful owner, I braved the dangers of Inviso-Feces and plucked the thing out of its holding spot.
Now, I don't consider myself nosy, really. I mostly don't care what other people are saying, doing, or writing as long as it doesn't interfere with my eating or sleeping. But, I did need to know who the thing belonged to, so I could return it, so I flipped through the thing to try to discreetly discover the owner's identity.
And, strangely, in this apparently well-used notebook of possibly 150 pages, complete with fairly expensive pen attached, only five pages had anything on them. Pages 2 and 3 had hand-drawn baroque curlique-border-flourish things, like you might see embellishing a turn of the century (the last one, not this one just 8 years ago) stock certificate. Or a certificate of completion from the Westchester School of Byzantine Mincing.
Page maybe-19 had a drawing of what I think was a bloodshot eye. The quality of art we're talking here is something like talented-eight-year-old or mid-life-crisis-accountant. Which is to say, better than anything I could do, but still not for public consumption.
Page something-like-62 had the heading "Phrases and Terms," and then followed with "vitriol," "mendacious," "choler," and something in French. I think it was "J'ai un morceau de votre pied," but I don't speak French, so I can't be sure.
Finally, page-approximately-81 had a handwritten list which I found so unsettlingly perplexing that I had abandon the notebook for the next intrepid Samaritan.
But not before copying it down on another page to take with me.
So I could share it with you.
And thus I present to you the list in its entirety:
- A insertion
- Condom
- Panties (tight and pulled under)
- Taught panties
- leggins panty typen
- long shirt tucked in
- Diaper (pullups) /with hole in crotch
- Support panties (large panty)
- Diaper overnighter
- Support panty
- Cotton pajama bottoms
- Cotton top
- Godun. Gown
Yeah, okay, maybe Esperanto.
But still.
I don't think you CAN come up with a non-disturbing explanation. And not just because you're you.
Posted by: Q | May 06, 2008 at 01:53 PM
With all due respect, of course.
Posted by: Q | May 06, 2008 at 01:54 PM
Um...ew.
I wish I could unread it.
Posted by: franticallysimple | May 06, 2008 at 02:40 PM
I was wondering where I left that...
Posted by: bob from accounting | May 06, 2008 at 02:41 PM
I'm pretty sure "J'ai un morceau de votre pied" means "I have a piece of your foot."
Honestly, what kind of restrooms do you use??
Posted by: Liz | May 08, 2008 at 09:08 AM
This is an example of something that even your uniquely demented mind couldn't make up. And the fact that it isn't made up puts it right on the verge of repugnant. Just my thoughts.
Posted by: Jeff | May 16, 2008 at 04:43 PM
If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a liar.
What the heck is a "godun"? [Scratched out number 11.]
Posted by: Burning | May 29, 2008 at 11:29 PM