Saturday, May 14, 2005

It's A Dead Man's Potty, Who Could Ask For More?

I'm a regular reader of Dad Gone Mad (you should totally be one too). In one of his recent posts he discussed the ever-so-delicate topic of evacuating ones bowels in a 7-11 bathroom. A tribulation I've (fortunately) never had to go through.

Unlike lots of other poor folks, the Spurious digestive system purrs like a kitten. People in the Family Spurious are all business about that kinda stuff. Because of this, I never really understood jokes about people reading on the can until college, when I had roommates who took FORTY-FIVE minutes to lay it down. All kinds of hitherto unthought of questions suddenly sprung up. Like how can you get comfy enough to read with your pants around your knees? And if you're only going to be in there 45 seconds, why even BRING a book?

Being thus blessed, I've only encountered two bathroom issues,

A.) The inability of the female populace to urinate without floating above the seat and flooding it.

B.) My amazing propensity for getting locked in men's rooms when I reeeeeeally have to pee.

My career of men's room infiltration and subsequent detention began in Jr. High, on a family vacation to San Francisco for 4th of July. I really, reeeeeeally had to pee and Papa Spurious stopped at a Taco Bell. The bathrooms wound up being the kind that eat quarters like a gumball machine, so after procuring a quarter from Papa Spurious (this indicates how bad I had to go. If Papa S. was willing to give me MONEY to pee, I must've really begged), I ran up to the women's room, almost dancing with I-need-to-pee fervor.

To my horror, the money part of the lock was taped over with masking tape on which some ass had written 'Out Of Service." I danced back to the car under the light of booming fireworks and asked my parents what to do. Mama Spurious suggested, " Just use the men's room..."

I wiggled with pee and disbelief. "Really?"

"Go ahead," said Mama S. conspiratorially, "No one'll see."

Squirming my way over to the men's room, I threw in my quarter, flung open the reinforced steel door and dashed inside. It smelled like burritos in the men's room. ALOT. Up for debate was whether the burrito smell came from burritos, or from someplace more nefarious. I didn't care. It was clean, and I had a lovely, relieving time.

After I washed up, I pushed on the steel door, feeling happy and ready to see some fireworks. Nothing happened. I turned the handle and pulled, just in case I was being a dork by pushing on a pull-type door. Nothing. Wiggled the handle, hoping the lock would catch. Nada. Shit.

I spent the next 20 minutes pounding on the steel door as fireworks boomed outside. I tried kicking, thumping and shouting at the top of my lungs for help, and got zilch. Just when I'd begun to think I'd be held captive for the rest of my days, the door suddenly opened. A very surprised looking man stood there, with fireworks exploding behind his head in the evening sky. I've never been so happy to see someone I didn't know in my entire life. He was my toilet savior.

Before he could get out more than,"Uhhhhh..." I dashed past him into the parking lot, embarrassed as hell, and hopped into the Spuriousmobile. "Finally!" shouted Papa S.

"I got locked in the men's room! I've been trying to get out for the last 20 minutes!"

Ah," said Mama S., " That's what took so long. We though you fell in."

"Why didn't you guys come check on me? Didn't you hear me? I was making deals with Greek gods offering up my firstborn child in a desperate plea for freedom! Why didn't you help?"

"Must've been the fireworks," said Papa pulling out of the parking lot, "We never heard a thing."

Because I was 13 and completely self-absorbed, it wasn't until weeks after the Taco Bell incident that I realized my savior had probably been trapped in the bathroom too, after I left. He's probably still there.

Since the fateful day when I lost my locked-in-a-men's-bathroom virginity, I've become a total trapped-in-a-men's-bathroom slut. I've gotten locked into more men's rooms than I can count. In Banana Republic. At the library. On a date at a fancy restaurant. On the 2nd floor of my high school, the list is endless.

It's not like I'm seeking out men's rooms on purpose either, I only use them when the women's room is 'Out of Service". Which is usually because some chick peed all over the seat.
Random Fruit Fact: The Olallieberry

"Physically the Olallieberry looks like a classic blackberry. Genetically, however, the Olallieberry is approximately two-thirds blackberry and one-third European Red Raspberry. Eaten fresh, Olallieberries are excellent, however most are made into preserves and wine. "

Don't drink too much or you'll have to pee, and you never know where that'll take you. Learn more about the Olallieberry, here.

Posted by Spurious Nurse at 5/14/2005 08:56:00 PM


  1. Blogger mrtl posted at 10:11 PM  
    I love how you integrate your fruit facts with your stories. They're always so... appropriate.

    Locked in men's bathrooms, huh? It seems awfully odd that this happens to you with such regularity (not only having to use the men's room so often, but to be locked in it as well). What gives?
  2. Blogger Candace posted at 8:35 AM  
    I thought *I* was the only girl who got locked in men's bathrooms with embarrassing regularity!

    Oh, Plummie, you're my long-lost twin!
  3. Blogger Southern Fried Girl posted at 9:24 AM  
    Great post. You tell stories with just enough detail that it makes it very easy to get a clear picture in my head. You are too funny
  4. Blogger marybishop posted at 10:37 AM  
    Great story to read now but I bet you didn't think it was very funny at the time poor little-girl plum...
  5. Blogger Caroline posted at 11:27 PM  
    Yea, what the hell is with all the squatters?!

    Stop squatting ya freaks, you aren't gonna catch anything.

    Man they bug the crap out of me.

    Umm ... not literally, of course.
  6. Blogger Aurora posted at 11:37 AM  
    I hate when people pee all over the seat! However there's nothing wrong with using the men's room...unless your at a movie theather, and accidentlly mistake the men's room for the girls...and you walk in and it's full of's all very akward...
  7. Blogger Squirll posted at 4:21 PM  
    I'm all about crashing the mens room line when out on the town. last time i did it, i had an "encounter" with a good friends dad. he was mortified. i just ran.
  8. Blogger Meggan posted at 11:11 PM  
    I can honestly say I have never been locked in a men's room. How does this happen so often?!?
  9. Blogger laurenbove posted at 5:02 AM  
    I was stuck in a men's room once. Late night teen diner sex. Surprise patron needing to pee. Wait it out. Nuff said.
  10. Blogger echrai posted at 3:34 PM  
    I've had to use the men's room several times. Stuck in them, nope, never... actually I lie. Once. Door would NOT open. I was sure someone would find my bones there (I worked in a theatre and this was in the bowels - hee, I said bowels- of the theatre.) It was the smelly restroom that nobody used and the rumor was it was haunted. Kids would trek in there in the dark and leave theatre greenies in there while howling and banging on the walls outside. Sadly, since that time, the theatre's been renovated, so I can never go back and relieve... errr relive my childhood.
  11. Blogger Dang Cold.. posted at 9:14 PM  
    Honestly, I think its really not a big deal for us guys to find a lady in the mens room once in a while. I would probably be a little surprised at first but I'd let it go do what I came to do. Guys don't visit the men's room to take attendance on who's in there that shouldn't be. Just remember. No chit chat. Dudes generally don't like to talk to strangers while whizzing or layin' down pipe. We don't take a shit, we take a standoffishit.

  12. Blogger uglyagnes posted at 8:01 AM  
    here is a pee story for you:

    Last nite, i REALLY had to pee in the middle of the night, so much so that i thought i might not make the two steps to the door. I get up, turn my ancient door knob in my ancient apartment and the door knob falls off and i can not get out. i am trapped inside my room with no way to pee. luckily i got out by getting super human superman strength and turning the little latch inside the door with my bare hands.
  13. Blogger Spurious Plum posted at 10:10 AM  
    MRTL- Fruit is part of our lives, it should be integrated into everything. Well, except the men’s room. No fruit needed in there.

    Misfit- **singing** You are not alone….I am here for you….

    SFG- Thanks lady!

    Marybishop- So sweet, as usual. I was completely freaked, but since my parents teased me relentlessly about it, the freak-outery sorta morphed into embarrassment as the evening wore on.

    Caroline- Ahh, my sister in Seat-Pee-Hatred….

    Airea- I’ve barged into the men’s room by accident even more times than I’ve been locked in it. I’ve found the best response to be “What’s up, Holmes!” followed by running.

    Squirll – Someone you know? I’m embarrassed enough about seeing people I DON’T know in the men’s room. And somebody’s Papa? Sprinting was totally rational.

    Meggan – About once a year. Every time I free myself from the men’s room I swear it’s the last time. Then a year later….

    Laurenbove- Late night teen dinner sex? Could you BE any cooler?

    Echrai- Way to rock the relieve/relive pun! Why are theatre bathrooms so scary?

    Dang – Hello mister man, thanks for stopping by. I’ve never approved of women getting chatty in the bathroom, so I sure as hell ain’t gonna chat some unknown dude up while he’s trapped in front of a urinal. Usually the urinal scares me into silence anyway.. those things are gross.

    You’reNotUglyAgnes- Poor thing! My doorknobs do the same thing, but they’ve never tried it in a pee-mergency. Hope you made it….
  14. Blogger Random and Odd posted at 11:19 AM  
    wait! wait for me!!

    I copy and pasted this post in word and printed it out and read it in bed last night.

    Now I have a whole new one to read.

    I love your stories!
  15. Blogger spoonleg posted at 6:41 AM  

    Watch your backs, ladies.

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