What’s up everybody, it’s dǰ pišpiš. This is more of a story and less of a usual commentary post. I attended a small high school that shared a campus with two other small schools. The campus was a collection of smaller buildings, sort of what you would find at a college campus. My school had a couple of buildings, a lab, and a portable to itself. However, one of the buildings has the school’s only bathrooms, so we students frequently move between buildings during class just to use the facilities.
I can only describe the boys bathroom, which looks what you would expect if you walked into a building that was built in the 50s or 60s. Upon walking in, you’ll find the sinks in front of you, and to the left of those sinks are a few toilet stalls. Directly across from those stalls, you’ll find a row of tall urinals crammed against the wall. They’re such abhorrent urinals because urine goes directly into the drain just below the bathroom floor. Medium blogger Higgins described the abominations as “opened coffins, standing upright, that you pee into. You see these in hipster bars, and I get the impression that they have been salvaged from even cooler (but defunct) bars, or maybe the Supreme Court.” Every time I piss into one these coffins, I can feel dirty water splashing right onto my shoes.
I used the same bathroom for the greater part of 3 years before I attended Running Start. So did 250 of the same boys in any given year. The bathroom would stink of some of the boys’ regular antics, such as covering the urinal drain with paper towels, staining the walls with dye or candy, playing “Battle ****s” (a version of the namesake “Battleships”) or just straight up flooding the hallway. I engaged in few of the more harmless antics myself. For instance, in freshmen year, I would regularly consume four water bottles during Algebra II class, and piss it all out loudly in the toilet two class periods later. “Damn, bro,” my senior classmate said one day in the stall next door, “that’s a very long piss.” I probably hold my school’s longest pissing record. But there is one single day in my high school career that went down as the worst day to go to my school’s boys bathroom. It was the day the boys bathroom stood still.
One day during my third year Spanish class, I drank too much water and really had to go. So I asked Profé if I could use the bathroom. She happily obliged, and I was on my journey across buildings. But when I entered my school’s main building, I could already tell something was wrong. A foul smell emanated from somewhere further down the hallway. As I passed by administration and several classrooms to the boys bathroom, the stench grew stronger. The doors to the bathroom were shut. I knew something afoul had gone in there, and I was hesitant—even scared—to learn about what the boys had done this time around. I pushed the doors open. A hot stench immediately engulfed my body. It was weird, because the rest of the bathroom was pristine. There weren’t any signs of vandalism, much less the boys’ usual and more innocent antics. But when I walked up to the urinals, I found the holy grail of all stink in the building. Someone had taken a huge **** in the urinal.
It was regular old **** just sitting there, well organized, in the urinal. I stood there for a good minute shocked at what I just looked at. Who the **** takes a **** in the urinal, of all things? Then I remembered I was there to take a piss, so I picked the urinal farthest away from the crime scene and hoped it would be over soon. I never washed my hands. When I exited the bathroom, I slowly shut the door behind me. Then I began cracking up. It took me great willpower not to let my laughter incapacitate me, let alone distract the other classes. How was I going to explain the situation to Profé when I return to her classroom? I spent the last minute of my hall pass outside to regain my composure before I walked into Profé’s classroom. I could barely spit words out of my mouth when I told Profé about my experience, which I remembered verbatim: “Profé, someone passed stools on the wrong place in the boys bathroom.”
I couldn’t really tell if Profé understood what I fumbled out, but she looked unfazed by my comments. None of the other boys in the classroom took mind to what I just said either, which is good because no one else wants to learn that the boys bathroom basically stinks of dog ****. I spent the rest of the school day wondering if custodial were ever called to remove the stools on an emergency basis. But God **** it, I’ll always remember this day like nothing else. The lesson to take away: If you’re ever needing to piss in a public bathroom, and the one you want to use stinks of ****, find another one or wait until you go home. There’s really no point walking up to a potential crime scene of foul doing just to take care of business. Take it easy everyone. See you.