I will never go into my workplace’s bathroom afterhours alone ever again.

Our bathrooms are rigged with a timed, motion sensor light.  So when no one enters the bathroom for over 30 minutes, the lights turn off.  Unfortunately, while the lights are out, all the cockroaches begin to party.  And these are not the little finger-size roaches … these bad boys are slightly smaller than that ugly mo-fo on Men in Black.

Last night I opened the door, the lights flickered on and I walked to the line of stalls.  When I opened the door, I saw one sitting on the toilet reading a newspaper and munching on a Coke can.  I said, “sorry”, excused myself and shut the door to go to another stall.  But barf-face jumped out at me and pounced on me like a cat on a mouse.

His breath was foul and I could see the germs crawling on him.  I knew I would need to detoxify myself after this encounter.  I managed to kick him in the leg while I yelled at the top of my lungs.  Luckily for me, someone came dashing in with a can of Raid and began spraying the stuff in his eyes.  He leaped off and dove into the drain hole.

Now whenever I use the workplace restroom, I take a can of Roach Killer.

Some of the profoundest questions are asked while in a bathroom.

Today, while relieving myself in the men’s restroom at work, I noticed the wall in front of me and the one to the side were speckled with dead boogers.  The profound question: How in the hell did those get there?

I can fathom how boogers died on the wall to the left of me … some redneck was wizzing, reached up with one of his hands, placed it on his right nostril and blew like the March wind.  The velocity of the booger would have killed it on impact, splattering its guts all over the wall.  But how about those dead boogers on the wall in front of me?

Did the urinator toss his head back as far as it could go, place a finger on one nostril and blow?  Wouldn’t he miss the urinal and splatter on himself?  Look at me … I’m worrying about a “civilized” human leaking on himself in an attempt to blow a booger on the wall.

Now to the more profound question: are there people who are completely unaware of tissue paper?  Has the thought ever occured in their Cro-Magnon heads that toilet paper has more than one use?  Well, perhaps they don’t use toilet paper … eeeww!

Alas, the reality of the situation is that there probably exists a booger caper in our building.  The crime does not involved robbery of material possession, rather dignity.  You see, dead boogers are not only showing up in the men’s bathrooms, but they also litter the walls of the stairwell; the walls of our conference rooms and hallways.  Somewhere in the dark and lonely parts of our building exists a criminal who intentially spreads disease and sickness throughout our corridors when no one is watching.

What has our society come to?  This and other questions sometimes keep me awake at night.

Maybe it was my Dad’s upbringing and how his parents survived the flu epidemic of 1918, but he’s a germ-o-phob (is that how you spell it?)  My wife freaks out about germs too.  So maybe all of this has rubbed off on me … maybe I’ve been infected.

Today was the day the germ broke this office-worker’s back.  There is this man who works at my office who doesn’t wash his hands.  He has a mullet, a beard, wears those ugly brown loafers with the tassels and he doesn’t sport a belt.  To finish off his ensemble, he coolly wears a gold braclet and necklace.  This guy is really cool.  He belongs in Nashville singing on Yee Haw.

I’ve been in the bathroom for number one when he walks in.  I finish first and then wash my hands with steamy hot water and lots of soap.  My hands are so clean, I’m prepped for surgury.  While I’m drying my hands, this perv nonchalantly walks past me, pauses in front of the mirror to admire his mullet and then exits the bathroom!  What the hell!?

Plastered on the mirror are signs urging people to wash their grimy hands.

He’s the reason why I carry my paper towel with me all the way back to my desk.  There’s no way on earth that I’m going to touch the doorknob this hobo defiled.  His hand was touching his junk; his hand then touched the doorknob, therefore his junk is all over the doorknob.

As bad as an offense he committed without washing after number one; it was nothing compared to the total disregard of the strict rule of washing after number two.  Yep, that’s right.  Today while steaming up the mirror with scalding hot water and scrubbing the skin off my hands, I watched Mullet-Man egress a stall and walk right past the sinks!  Just as he was about touch the door handle, I yelled out, “HALT YOU DIRTY BASTARD!!”

He was caught off guard a bit.  The water was still running; he was looking at me with his brown-smudged hand inches from the steel bar of the door.  It was a show-down at the OK Corral Bathroom.  “You get your smutty hands back in here right now and wash em!”

“Oh yeah?  What you gonna do if I don’t?” he smirked back.

“I will get on the public announcement system and tell the whole damn company that ol-dirty-dick-hands left the bathroom without washing.  You’ll be an outcast.”

He replied, “I dare you.”

“Touch that door handle and I will.”

His eyes met my eyes.  Steam was filling the bathroom.  A bead of sweat emerged from his forehead and rolled down his face.  I was as calm as a hot summer day in Texas.  Both of us were waiting for the other to draw.

“You ain’t gonna do it” and then he pulled the handle and walked out.

I shut the water off, dried my hands and then proceeded to the PA phone to make an annoucement.

“Attention.  May I have your attention.  Billy Ray Roberts has just been to the little-boy’s room to make a deposit.  He left the bathroom without even glancing at the sink.  His hands are highly contagious.  If he comes to your office, get out the Lysol.  Thank you!”

The rest of the day, my co-workers avoided Billy Ray like the plague.  He was an outcast and shunned from all social contact.

Today, my fellow germ-o-phobes, we have taken a step closer to a cleaner world.