Thursday, June 9, 2011

The bathroom in Earls Restaurant is retarded

I miss being a kid. Everything during those years of my life was powered by simplicity, naivety, or sometimes a complete disregard for my well being, but that's a different story. Earls was very simple when I was a kid. It was a restaurant populated by giant women with enormous boobies who would bring me chocolate milk, and I seriously thought it was the only place on the planet that sold chicken fingers and fries. Not much has changed over the years. The women at Earls still have boobies big enough to lose your pet gerbil in, and they still bring me chocolate milk, which eventually makes me pee. My relationship with Earls has never fluctuated until recently when I had to use the bathroom there. Now it's like if Oprah suddenly grew a dick on her forehead. You just couldn't look at her the same way ever again.

I never realized this until I found myself in the bathroom at Earls, but I seriously never use public bathrooms. Ever. It's not simply because most public bathrooms have poop splattered on the wall opposite of the toilets, or because I hate it when there are at least five to ten free urinals, and some guy decides to use the one directly beside me, I just never have to pee or go number two when I'm out in public. No, that delight is usually reserved for my brother's bathroom in the basement. But this trip to Earls was different, it couldn't be avoided. Why you ask? I caught a stomach bug a couple weeks ago and I've been taking frighteningly huge shits ever since, at least two or three times a day. Big, loud, stinky ass bowl fillers. If you'd like a mental picture, the next time you go to the bathroom, imagine an upside down giant jellyfish in your toilet:

So I'm with my girlfriend one night, which is as much uncommon as it is weird, because I spend all my time listening to Led Zeppelin and eating. I'm not sure how she fits into my life exactly, although this does provide an explanation as to who keeps making out with me and massaging my feet while I play videogames. I don't know too much about her, but apparently she gets hungry sometimes. I know, I think it sounds made up too, but in any event, common etiquette dictates that I'm obliged to feed her. The thing is, common etiquette to me is kicking my neighbour's cat into a tree, so this particular day I was like, "Fuck it, let's go to Earls." So we find ourselves in the restaurant when my ass feels like it's on the verge of opening a vent to hell, so I head for the bathroom. The problems with the bathroom presented themselves immediately, before I even stepped foot inside it. Also, before you ask, my girlfriend is with me purely for my charm.

First of all, I couldn't find the damn thing. I knew what general direction to go in, namely towards the sign that said "Washrooms", but as I rounded the corner, I found myself staring directly into the kitchen. I paused for a moment after the entire kitchen staff stopped what they were doing to look at me, like I'd crossed some sort of forbidden boundary, when I noticed some stairs leading to the basement. I looked over at a server just to make sure, and she reassured me in her forced annoying squeak voice that I was actually headed to the bathroom. She sounded like she was trying to talk after just eating a lemon while sitting on a cold toilet seat, or attempting to communicate with a squirrel. I wanted to tell her how creepy and unnecessary that voice was, but my ass was in DEFCON 1, so I darted down those stairs as fast as I could.

The journey took a little longer than I expected because I was walking in that awkward about-to-take-a-shit way that looks like you're trying to walk in a potato sack, but when I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, suddenly everything got cold. On reflection this was probably because I was in the basement, but the tiny lobby I was standing in gave this inscrutable feeling of unease, and this feeling of being utterly alone like suddenly waking up in Silent Hill. To my left was two doors, one unmarked and the other a janitors closet. I stared at both half expecting to hear someone whispering "help me" just before the door knobs started shaking and the walls started bleeding. Thankfully they didn't.

At last I made it to the bathroom. The only trick now was to actually get inside. I've never considered opening a door to be a difficult task before, but the door leading inside was like the fucking gates of Minas Tirith. I started kicking the heavy ass thing to try and get it open, half expecting to hear cheers of relief from anyone clearly trapped inside. At that moment I realized I was sweating profusely, likely from the enormous strain of keeping my ass clenched tighter than a snare drum to contain armageddon for a few moments longer. When I finally did get the door open and stepped inside, it was like a gateway to another dimension. As soon as it shut, two things occured to me. First, the room was completely sound proof, meaning the people in the restaurant above would mostly be spared from the forthcoming onslaught, and secondly, oh fuck, am I going to be able to get out of here?

After that I noticed there was only two stalls, meaning Earls clearly underestimates how badly their food makes people have to shit, and a single urinal. What the fuck is the point of having only one urinal? So the guy waiting behind me can pee on my leg or in my cupped hands? Great thinking, Earls. Although there was a garbage can conveniently placed right beside the urinal, which could serve as an effective urinal in desperate situations. But I wasn't there to shit in the urinal as some people do, I was there to melt a toilet bowl, so I looked to the stalls. I still wasn't sure if there was actually someone in the bathroom with me, or as I would have called him, my unfortunate poopmate. Both of the stall doors were closed, but they were so ridiculously low to the ground I couldn't see underneath them, so I was in the awkward situation where you're not sure if you should knock on the door, or bend over until you see a pair of shoes or a stream of piss that's suspiciously missing the toilet. I looked underneath because I have no shame and saw nothing, so I walked into a stall.

As I mentioned before, the door was very low to the ground, which makes those stalls an ideal fall out shelter for a zombie apocalypse (I think), or more realistically, ensures that some asshole won't lock them from the inside and crawl back out with his dignity intact. The door was also the size of the door leading inside the bathroom itself, so it was nice knowing that unless someone was extremely determined to see my half naked ass, that is, willing to smuggle a trampoline into the bathroom, no one was going to look over the wall. But if someone or some thing casually did, at least I'd know for sure I was going to die. It was at this point that I finally looked at the toilet.

The bowl itself was moderately sized. Small enough to ensure that your ass won't gradually sink in, but if you got an erection it would most certainly touch the cold inside of the bowl, which feels weird. Never go poop when you have a boner, ladies. Anyway, it was almost as low to the ground as the stall door, so who ever designed that bathroom has somehow managed to go his or her whole life without taking a shit. As soon as you sit down your knees are practically right up to your face, so if you happen to squeeze hard enough you'll end up peeing on your own chin. But before I sat down I looked inside the bowl, because that's just what you're supposed to do, and I saw a tiny puddle of water at the bottom. At first I was pleased that water wouldn't splash up on my balls, but then I wondered how this toilet was going to survive. I took comfort in the fact that I wouldn't have to deal with it, so I sat down.

The massacre that took place immediately afterwards was I'm sure responsible for the death of at least one person by radiation poisoning. Either the next person to use the bathroom (at this point it could have been considered a bog), or the person who was forced to clean it. They say second hand smoke is deadly, but the stink that my ass produced was unlike anything I've ever imagined. I wasn't aware my body was capable of something so horrifying. The stench could have choked a full grown horse to death. I'd be very surprised if the bathroom wasn't excavated at least 50 feet deep then filled with cement to ensure that nothing could rise from that accursed land. I began to worry at some point if I could be criminally charged for disturbing the peace or extensive property damage.

The initial fart was so mighty it was like the coming of rapture. Somehow I managed to bring the tiny puddle of water in the bowl high enough to splash my balls after all, and dramatically raise the temperature as well. The colossal force my ass produced may have also created a tiny wave pool at the bottom of the bowl. The initial poop was like the Jericho Missile from Iron Man. During the atrocity, I was half expecting someone to come downstairs to check and see what was making the entire restaurant shake, and I was curious if the smell managed to waft up through the ventilation system and started choking the people sitting at the tables directly above me.

After I was done, I looked down to admire my handy work. What I saw is best described as a giant brain made of steaming poop that appeared to be breathing. I laughed like the sick bastard I am then went to wipe my ass. The damn toilet paper holder dispenser thingy was a foot off the ground so I kept on having to reach way underneath it, and because public bathrooms insist on using that thin ass paper which I'm sure is designed purely to get poop on one of your fingers, I kept accidentally tearing off tiny sheets of paper. They always put those things on so fucking tight too, so you end up clawing at this roll of paper like a cat for half a goddamn hour and getting next to nothing. Waiting for a raccoon to run by to wipe your ass with would be more effective.

After that ordeal was over and my butt was nice and clean, it was time to flush. I half expected the toilet to pathetically try and flush all of that terror down the drain then die, like a small child attempting a 500 pound deadlift. This part was so bizarre, frightening and goddamn hilarious all at once. What the toilet did first was push the mound of poop a little higher, effectively smearing it all over the inside of the bowl, but then holy shit bricks did it flush that motherfucker. It flushed the whole thing at once with such force, you could probably flush an xbox down that thing. Of course after that things got far less funny.

Some genius decided it was a good idea for the stall door to open into the stall, but the stall was so damn small I had to back up until I was standing over the toilet (which at this point made me extremely nervous) before I could finally walk out. When I did, I debated whether I should wash my hands or do what I usually do and rub my hands on someone's face and laugh. Just kidding, hygiene is awesome and manly, so I walked over to the sinks. There were two sinks which I guess is an appropriate number for such a small bathroom, but not for an entire restaurant. I have four sinks in my house. Two more men could wash their hands at once in peace on my property (three if you include the garden hose), even if one sink usually has old underwear in it, dead spiders or paint brushes. You suck, Earls.

At first I wanted to complain about the height of the counters, because a man of average height could easily take a piss in one without having to stand on a box or the tips of his toes. But then I realized that this was probably designed with children in mind, which is understandable. Kids are all smelly fuckers, they should learn to wash their nasty ass hands, or just stick to manual labour in cramped spaces. Now, the faucets were controlled by motion sensor. Motion sensors are cool. They let the police know when random people are walking through your home so they can show up and beat them with sticks, and you can understand why public places use them in their bathrooms (so some asshole can't leave the tap on) despite all the inherent problems (do you get hot or cold?). I have no problem with motion sensors, unless they don't fucking work, as was the case with these faucets. You've probably experienced this before. You put your hands under, then about three seconds later the water shuts off, so you wave your hand again to get a couple drips, then it shuts off again, like the tap is just finishing taking a piss. Then you wave your hand again and nothing happens, so you keep waving progressively faster and faster as your rage rises, until it looks like you're furiously masturbating over the sink.

While I was doing this I spotted the paper towel dispenser. The fact that there was only one was stupid, but what made it worth mentioning is that it was in the strangest spot imaginable: directly beside the sink, imbedded in the counter. It wasn't in a case or anything, it was just sitting there. Strange that the designers of that bathroom went to the trouble of preventing anyone beyond the extremely determined from flooding the sinks or pissing on the toilet paper, but someone could easily ruin all the paper towels if they wanted to, and take an upper decker shit I suppose, but that's a different story. Although come to think of it, this does provide an explanation for the pathetic water pressure in those sinks. You'd have to be determined to ruin the paper towels as well. Not as determined as you'd have to be to flood the sinks, mind you, but there would have to be clear intent. Or you'd just have to be a dick.

As I discovered moments later when I reached for a paper towel, the party never stops at Earls. The bundle of paper towels detached itself from the holder and fell into the depths of the counter the second I touched it. I say "depths" because I didn't actually hear a thud when the bundle hit the floor. It's like it fell into an abyss, Gandalf style. I backed away from the counter slowly and looked for something else to dry my hands with. Thankfully there was another hand-drying apparatus at my disposal, also known as a hand dryer. It was controlled by motion sensor as well, but it had no markings telling you where to place your hands to turn it on, so I was awkwardly feeling around this thing with uncertain hands. Wait, was I talking about drying my hands or my first experience with vagina? I can't remember.

Now, I've never had a good experience with a hand dryer before. They either blow boiling steam on your hands or air that's as cold as witch titty, neither of which do a particularly good job of drying your hands, not to mention they're fucking loud. Why do they have to be so fucking loud?! I appreciate approaching a simple task like drying your hands as intensely as possible, but some of us just like having dry hands and having our hearing remain intact. There's a reason why I don't dry my hands by sticking them infront of a jet turbine. Partly because I enjoy hearing things, but mostly because I don't have access to a jet. If I did have access to a jet there would be different things on my mind.

Hand dryers have always been something to be avoided for me, there was no good reason for me to utilize this one, but by this point in time I was fully aware that I wanted to write an article about this bathroom. I knew using the hand dryer would be a painful and demeaning experience, but I'm committed to my writing. I wouldn't have been able to get this far knowing that I didn't exploit every inch of that bathroom, so I waved my hand under that fucker for about ten minutes until it turned on.

Now I've never been in an active warzone before, but I feel the experience of having that dryer turn on is best compared to standing next to a dense cluster of explosives then having it detonate. At least in terms of severe hearing loss and temporary loss of basic motor functions. My limbs remained intact, although I couldn't feel my hands because the air that was just shot at them made it feel like I'd held them in buckets of icecream for several hours. I was sure I remained standing through the ordeal, but I did lose the ability to hear for a brief period of time, and during that time I realized that this would probably contribute very little to this writing, and that I hate myself. Might as well have just used my fucking pants. Also, why the fuck does the garbage can look like a laundry basket?

After I'd managed to open the door that was seemingly glued shut and released the vile stench that was trapped inside with me, I started the faster and far less strenuous journey back upstairs and casually returned to my table, uncertain if the smell of my bathroom excursion was following me around and suffocating everyone around me, like I was a black hole made of fart and everyone around me was too close to the singularity to escape. No one seemed to be passing out on their food though, so I suspect I was ok in the area of smell. Appearance was a different story because according to my girlfriend, I was showing signs of blood poisoning and hypothermia. From her description I seemed to have lost a dramatic amount of weight, I was sweating, I was slightly pale and my hands were extremely cold. I had also suddenly become paranoid of the sound of sirens. We left a few minutes later.

Just to clarify, this bathroom is located in the Earls on the University of Alberta campus. I may not be remembering all of this accurately, so someone should eat there and confirm everything I've written today. I myself plan to just shit on the side of the building on my next visit. Although come to think of it, while I still stand by the title of this writing, the act of discharging waste in public restrooms is kinda fun. I don't know why I've avoided it for so long, I should do it more often, or I could just shit in your bathroom for a nominal fee. It would be a memorable experience for the both of us, plus the exorcist you'll probably need to hire.