Warning: Yuck Factor

Some of you get to take a trip to the public restroom with no major incident. This never happens to me.

Two Sundays ago my family of five visited a local pizza place for the yummy buffet. After finishing her pizza Charleigh asked to use the restroom. As I rose to take her Joshua yelled out that he too needed to go potty.

Now while Joshua is on the potty train track he has not yet pulled into the station. When we go to public places he still wears either a diaper/training pants. This was true on this occasion as well.

Upon entering the restroom and assigning Charleigh to her stall I proceeded in taking Joshua into the neighboring handicap stall. I checked the front of Joshua's diaper. Still dry! Yeah! We made it in time. Under the assumption the diaper was clean I took it off and put Joshua on the towering toilet. Unbeknownst to me he had already relieved himself in the diaper. As I mastered the art of taking off the diaper and lifting him to the toilet I was unaware of the renegade p**p ball that silently rolled to the floor. In fact I was totally unaware of the pile of yuck until my open toed sandals fell nicely upon it.

At the sound of my displeasure Joshua jumped down off the toilet, I put him back on without realizing that his jumping off had wiped crud down the front of his throne and my putting him back up would apply it to the back of his jeans. With him safely back on the commode I focused my attention on my shoe. The pressing issues at hand were: How to clean my shoe? How to clean the floor? And How to get out of there as fast as possible. During the dethroning incident I had unintentionally spread "#2" all over the tile floor. I tried to go ahead and wipe as much off my shoe onto the already soiled floor with the plan being to hop out of the stall and retrieve numerous wet paper towels. As I approached the sink I noticed No paper towels! All the esteemed establishment had made available was a powerful hand drier. UGGG. I hopped back to the stall resigned to the fact that I would have to use toilet paper to clean the mess. I reach to the paper dispenser and pulled on the tissue. One square only. I try again and yet again I receive only one square. I focus all my
attention (while keeping my skirt off the floor) on the toilet paper dispenser. No matter how hard I try, how gently I pull, even when using both hands the paper tears after each square. At this point Charleigh has finally finished her own business nextdoor and is asking numerous questions through the door as to what is going on. As I forcefully instruct her to stay outside the stall where it is safe. I manage 8 squares to clean my shoe.

Now for the floor. Where to begin? WHERE TO BEGIN! I again plead with the toilet paper dispenser to give me more, just a little more. I considered ripping the dispenser off the wall and freeing the whole role but it looks as if I had already sufficiently desecrated the stall. One meager square at a time I get enough paper to clean up the majority of the mess. Kinda. After multiple washing of the hands, not nearly satisfied with the still lingering film of excrement spread on the floor and my sons pants, I gather my children and leave the bathroom disgusted at the pitiful situation. I arrive frumpled and discouraged to the table and announce to my husband that it is now time to go. Forget the chocolate chip desert pizza or the buttery cinnamon sticks we must leave this place! Never to return! Not until they realize the value of a paper towel dispenser.


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