Potentially my weirdest conversation ever…

I know I’m about to do 2 posts in a row relating to things happening in the toilet but hey, sometimes inspiration comes from the most unlikely places.

So I’m in the shitter here at work, finishing up my business and washing my hands. When in strolls the #1 man in our company (or #2 man or #3 man, who the fuck knows at this point. We change our company structure every 15 minutes around here). We exchange pleasantries and after a couple of seconds of silence he asks me :

One of the top 3 men : So how was your weekend?

Of course I know he doesn’t really care but hey, this is the #2…uh, #1 or #3 man in the company. Not a good idea to be surly at this point. Besides, I can play the polite game as well as anyone else.

Me : It was fine thanks…too short but ok otherwise.

At this point, for me anyway, the conversation is over. I was polite but the message that I didn’t intend to carry on the conversation was plainly delivered because I didn’t add the necessary, “How was yours?” caveat. See, I make it a habit to not carry on conversations where one of the people involved is either taking a shit or a piss. Call me old-fashioned if you must but I just don’t dig talking to someone while they’re relieving themselves.

Apparantly…Mr. 1, 2 or 3 did not get the hint.

One of the top 3 men : Hey, how old are you now?

I paused for a second…plotting the potential paths this question could be leading so I could prepare my counter assault. It’s a bad habit of mine. When someone asks something I try and think about where they’re leading me so that I can be ready should any witty remarks be needed. Yes, I am a confrontational asshole.

Me : Uh, I’m 35.

I awaited his response, eager to see where he was headed with that particular question because this conversation had suddenly made me feel like JFK riding through the streets of Dallas towards the Book Depository. Without proper preparations the killing shot could come from anywhere.

One of the top 3 men : Oh, you’ve got plenty of time then.

What the hell??

I contemplated that for a second. What the hell had just happened? I had absolutely no idea what the fuck this man was talking about. I needed an out, and really fucking quick before this spun out of control and I found myself in a serious discussion of Middle-Eastern politics, the superiority of Jello over traditional pudding, and why warts on your dick could be a serious symptom of an underlying and as of yet, undiscovered, malady. I was dealing with a madman and there was no telling where our next conversational stop would be.

Me : Uh…well, thanks…I certainly hope so. Have a good one!

Still confused beyond words, I turned and walked out and left the bizarre exchange to reverberate in the small confines of the company Men’s Room. But at least I had managed to gnaw off my verbal leg and escape the trap I had just stumbled into.

So now, here I am an hour later and I STILL have absolutely no fucking clue what the hell that man was talking about.

“Plenty of time” for what?? Plenty of time to have kids? Join the circus? Become an exotic male dancer? Learn to crochet using gorilla hair and jaguar bones? Become an astronaut? What fucking point was he trying make? Was there one at all or is he completely bat-shit psycho?

I’ve never had a more random comment given to me in my entire life. What the hell did I just miss there? Now, I don’t consider myself the sharpest knife in the silverware drawer but I’m not the dullest either. But no matter what I do that final comment makes zero sense to me.

Now the son of a bitch has me all nervous. I’m going to spend the rest of the day analyzing the scenario in my head over and over again to see if I might’ve misinterpreted his original question or how he could’ve misheard me. Hoping beyond hope that something will click into place and I can finally proclaim in my best Archimedes voice “Eureka! I have found it!”

The kicker is that he’s probably in his office laughing his ass off right now…his evil plan of mind-fucking a random employee having come together with a craftsmans precision.

The smug fuck.

Welcome to my hell…

Many of you are aware that I work for a moderately successful newsletter company here in town. I shall not divulge the name of said company because I have a mortgage to pay and really don't feel like getting fired over something as ridiculous as a blog entry.

However, there are certain things that I just cannot let pass without commenting on them.

May I ask you to turn your attention to the photo above…henceforth known as "Exhibit A".

This is a note we received back from a customer, apparently complaining that they couldn't read their fax proof. So they, in a move that can only be called ironic in the most hilarious sense of the word, decided to fax back the above hand-written note attached to their fax proof sheet. A note which is, in and of itself, extraordinarily hard to read.

For those of you who don't speak fluent "irony", please allow me to translate. The note reads "Not very legeble, hard to read". Not very "legeble" indeed.

First of all, you've misspelled "legible"…good job there genius…Daniel Webster must be damned proud of you. I believe the judges just gave him a 9.7 on the double back flip with a quarter twist he just did in his grave.

Second, your note…or hand written nonsense, whichever you prefer…is also very, very hard to read itself. This would be where the irony comes into play. You've decided to comment on the diffuculty you had in reading something faxed to you by making your comment to us equally hard to read.

Outstanding work and quite a shrewd commentary on the state of affairs by the way. A bold move…not necessarily one I would've made, but a bold move nevertheless.

If I may be so forward as to offer a suggestion as to a better way to present your case. It might be better to have the good sense to make the spokesperson presenting your case be someone other then the 4 year old child of someone who just happens to work in your leasing office.

Pot, this is kettle…you're black.

Up or Down…the Great Toilet Seat Controversy.

As I was headed to the little boys room here at work, I hit the stall only to find the toilet seat up. “Obviously a single man.” was my first thought, since all married men have been trained, or brainwashed which is more to the truth of the matter, into lowering the seat for the lady of the house.

This has always been a topic that I’ve loved to debate with my wife. It’s just fun to point out the insanity of this practice only to be retorted with “but it’s the gentlemanly thing to do!”.

Now, allow me to reveal the greatest coverup of human history…The Da Vinci Code is lightweight romance fodder when compared to this mindblower. Let me lay out my contentions for you to make your own decision on the matter.

Now, when a fella goes to the bathroom he either has to raise the toilet seat or run the risk of inadvertantly “splashing” the seat either during or after the bathroom act. Ladies absolutely hate this…and for good reason. So what we, as men, have always been told is that we must raise and the lower the seat in order to avoid any unintentional soiling.

Who told us this? Why, our mothers of course…who were women by the way.

But that’s just the tip of the conspiracy iceberg. It gets better.

Now contemplate what the lowering of the seat means…why would we have to do that? Well, we’re told that if we don’t then the ladies drop down into the toilet itself, getting their asses dunked into the toilet water when attempting to have a seat so they can do their business. We, we’re told, need to make sure we put the seat back down.

Now, here’s the question that has plagued mankind since Thomas Crapper invented the indoor toilet all those years ago…

“Why?”

Why do we have to be the ones to not only let the seat up, but then be responsible for letting it back down again?

You do of course realize what the ladies are telling us in regards to the seat being left up don’t you?

They’re telling us they pay absolutely no attention to where they’re putting their ass. They just automatically assume we’ve put the seat back down thanks to the subtle brainwashing conducted by our Mothers when we were children and they’ve been exploiting that weakness for the last 100 years.

Why should we, as men, be forced to not only RAISE the seat but then conversely LOWER it as well? Aren’t we, as men, doing all the fucking work then? Where’s the fairness in that shit?

That means that all the ladies have to do is drop trow, plop down, finish their business, hoist their panties and then they’re off on their merry way. While we on the other hand are given the task of raising and then lowering the toilet seat just on the off-chance that a woman might possibly be the next one to use it. God help you if you happen to forget.

Wouldn’t it be easier for them to just pay a little more fucking attention to what they’re doing?? What kind of idiot just drops their pants with no regards as to whether or not the seat is up, down or even attached at all? How the fuck does this complete lack of attention to detail fall upon the shoulders of mankind to set right? No man would EVER do that shit…why do we allow the ladies to get away with it?

What the fuck happened to the woman’s rights movement? Didn’t they want all the benefits and perks of being a man? Are they telling us they’re too fragile, or girlie to just turn around and fucking look to see if the seat is down or not? This whole scenario is bullshit.

Try complaining to a woman about the toilet seat being left down. “Honey, I just went to pee and the toilet seat was left down. I just peed all over the seat without realizing it.” You’ll get shit thrown at you…they’ll tell you to go fuck yourself and you’ll never, ever have sex with them again. “Pay a little more fucking attention!” is what you’ll be told…but shoot that same sentiment back at them and suddenly you’re the asshole and you get to spend the night on Mr. Couch.

But what’s so different between those two scenarios? They get pissed when we leave it up because they fall into the water, shouldn’t we get pissed when they leave it down for us to piss on?

But, rest easy…I’m not suggesting full-on male/female hostilites.

I do have a compromise in mind. A “truce” from the horrors of the toilet wars.

When a woman goes to the restroom and the seat is up then she simply lowers it. If the seat is down, then she raises it. When a man goes to the restroom and the seat is down, then he raises it and if it’s up then he just lowers it. Thus the work of raising and lowering the toilet seat is shared between the two people in the house using it and we can all live happily ever after.

Man was never meant to take this awesome charge on his own…it’s time for the ladies to do their share of the work too.

But you guys go first…I’m not about to spoil my bedroom plans over a toilet seat. I mean, I’m not a fucking idiot or anything.