Tag Archives: bathroom

Toilet Paper Roll Playing


Best friends forever!

I wanted to write a bit about the toilet paper situation in our house. There’s a natural order to things, even toilet paper. You might find the topic boring but as your intrepid blogger I’m willing to take a swipe at it.

There’s a three-tier system of toilet paper deployment in our home. I’m not talking about “ply.” That, of course, is something that varies wildly over the course of time and cannot be predicted. If you’re not careful some rolls blow away like dandelions in the wind. These are known in the industry as 1-ply, micro-ply or nano-ply. Others are decidedly thicker and look like what you might expect if you dissected the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Common varietals include 2-ply, 4-ply, 8-ply, 16-ply, 32 ply and 64-Mbps-ply (if available in your area).

Which tier of the system is for you? It depends on your level of desperation.

In no particular order we begin our journey with an exploration of the Top Shelf Tier. This toilet paper is located at the very top of a cabinet in the bathroom. Despite the lofty name this location has been carefully determined based on being totally inaccessible to the standard occupant in a sitting position. You can reach up and strain your arm but it ain’t gonna happen. This stash is basically emergency use only. It’s the bathroom equivalent of breaking the glass in case of fire. If push comes to shove you’ll have to stand up to get it.

Next we find the Everyday Tier. This is one or more rolls scattered about the room in very accessible positions. This may be the edge of the sink, balanced on the towel rack, or even on the floor. The point is, like an old friend, it’s there when you need it. This is your low-hanging fruit and bestest buddy in the toilet paper realm. But it’s also a dying breed. Your wife will terminate it on sight. That makes Everday Tier a precious commodity and a trusted friend.

Last, but certainly not least, is the Official Tier. This stuff is so highfalutin that it even has it’s own rack. And it’s mounted right on the wall! La-dee-dah! The placement of this rack, however, leaves something to be desired and is, perhaps, the most visible indication yet that this house was designed by Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four. I know that’s a stretch but evidence suggests his superpowers are required to reach the damn thing. Putting the toilet paper right behind the toilet? Utter brilliance. That ranks right up there with a floor plan design that reveals a direct line-of-sight to the urinals when the restroom door is opened at the pub. Clever!

The point I’m trying to make is that I hate the Official Tier and avoid it unless absolutely necessary. I keep banning it from this realm of existence but it, somehow, always returns.

One time I had a girlfriend move in with me. I kept the master bath for myself and she took ownership of the other bathroom. It was the bathroom adjacent to the living room by the front door. It was informally known as our “public” restroom. The only rule? That it be kept well-stocked with plenty of toilet paper for visiting dignitaries and out-of-town guests.

Then, one day, my best friend went to use the facilities and ended up taking a shower. What the hell? I grilled him when he exited and he claimed he had no choice. There was no toilet paper! No sheet! See? If she had used the three-tiered system that never would have happened.

Avoid pain and humiliation for you and your friends. Get on the three-tiered system today.


bathroom-graphThey called her Clean-Fingers McGee. She never missed. They said you could bet your life on her fingers being clean. Come to think of it, if you ever shook hands with her, that’s pretty much what you were doing.

Although not generally known, McGee had a secret. When using public restrooms, she would pull up her pants before exiting the stall and making her way across the tile of questionable cleanliness to the sinks to wash her hands.

You see, McGee was deathly afraid of shuffling across public restrooms with pants around her ankles. This condition, which is more common than most people think, is known as talocruralpantaloonlocophobia.

Curious, we decided to conduct a study.

One thing we know for sure: When it comes to restroom habits the concept of sequencing is of vital importance. Fact: Persons exiting restroom stalls with their pants up and belts secured are doing it wrong.
Continue reading →

Proximo has got to go

Shipping Containers

Wow. I can see my office from here.

Imagine, if you will, a workplace that is roughly the size of a shipping container.

Oh yes, oh yes. Another good time work post is upon us now.

I previously reported on my discovery, the 666 equilateral triangle. It’s a place where dreams go to die. In short, it works like this. I sit six feet away from cow orker. Cow orker sits six feet away from the boss. The boss sits six feet away from me.

Technicolor? Bah! Imagine Fart-O-Vision where you get to experience the subtle nuance of every biological function of your neighbor. Good times, indeed!

It’s enough to make one go barking mad, but I, of course, resist that with all my might. That’s why I’m still completely sane.

So, in honor of Friday, the most deceitful day of the week, I merely have a quick question to ask.

In this post I’m going to refer to my boss as Proximo, mainly because, as he interfaces with my existence, he is so proximous.

The first part of the agony is a function of time. I spend more time at work than doing anything else in my life. (Source: This nifty little graph.)

That only communicates part of the story, though. The other half of the misery equation is one of proximity.

I’ve thought about this and realized that my current situation is truly unique. At some jobs the boss didn’t even work in the building. It would be a big deal when the boss stopped by (almost always by “surprise!”). All the employees were like, “Oh shit. The boss.” It changed the feel of the environment. My last asshole boss lived a mile away from the office, worked from home, but liked to jaunt over unexpectedly quite often, even though he didn’t like being there very much. I guess the necessary evil of fucking with the employees outweighed his distaste for being in the shithole. He’d usually flee as fast as possible after he had made his point.

At one place where I worked for 16 years and over 1,000 employees, the CEO liked to stroll around as part of tactic to be seen as accessible to employees and interested in every part of the operation. I knew the guy because we’d been on some committees together and had worked on a few projects. He’d stroll by and say, “Hi, Tom.” I knew I wasn’t about to get fired but it still somehow felt like it. The CEO walking by and saying your name wasn’t something that happened all the time.

Or the boss worked out of sight in an office around the corner or across the floor. The boss would occasionally stop by from time to time but certainly wouldn’t stay there all day long, day after day, every single day of your life.

I literally spend 40 hours a week six feet away from the boss. He seldom, if ever, leaves that space. It’s his clubhouse, his sanctuary, his home away from home. It is where he goes to escape his wife. It is the one part of his existence where he is the boss. His word is law. (Unlike his home life.) So he just loves and adores being there.

His wife will call him and try to make plans. It’s pathetic to listen to him tell her how busy he is (he’s not) and how he has to work late. He loves to work on Saturdays, too, and bitches when a holiday comes along and forces him to spend more time with his family.

Me? All I think about is escaping that fucked up place and spending every other precious moment of my life with my wife. Another thing I realized lately was that I would never trade places with my boss. (Is that like a positive thought?)

Our workstations are L-shaped so that I can’t see him unless I turn around (thank God) but he can view me and my computer screen without me being aware. My computer is in his line of sight. I know that arrangement is no coincidence. Six feet from my office chair is his office chair.


A great decorating idea for the office restroom.

Here’s a nice little bonus. When he gets up off his ass and goes to the restroom and sits on the toilet, he’s still exactly six feet away. You see, my workstation shares a wall (decidedly not a soundproofed one) with the office bathroom. But I think I’ve already expounded about that enough in the past. (For the curious, research my posting history if you want to know more about what the boss in the restroom is like. Bring a strong stomach.)

So yeah, I’m within six feet of the boss for just about 40 hours a week, every week. It’s like clockwork. I don’t even get a break from him when he goes to the bathroom. And I realized that sort of boss proximity is completely unprecedented in my experience. Does anyone out there have anything even remotely like this?

Who let the logs out? Uh, uh!

Hey you! In the toilet! I'm watching you!

If you don’t follow my Twitter feed you’re only getting half of the story…

Sometimes events so important will happen only in Twitterville so they must be told again.

This is one of those times.

Pants pulled down
Around ankles on the ground
On the toilet I sit
Good taste dictates that I omit

Hang on for the true story of what happened this very week.

Toilet Bat

Toilet Bat would be considered an improvement in my line of work.

This post has been rated DNR (Do Not Read) by the BPAA (Blog Post Association of America).

Warning: This post is intended for infantile audiences only. It may contain violence, sexual content, drug use and/or strong language. You must be IQ 17 or higher to read this post. By reading this post you are certifying that your IQ is at least 17. Do not read this post around meal time.

This is what I call a NEXUS post. How does a post get elevated to NEXUS status? It must meet a stringent set of criteria as specified by humble Abyssian scientists. These criteria are:

  • Poop
  • Negativity
  • Work
  • Me

Only a post that meets all criteria will justify the NEXUS designation. This is how we work to guarantee a quality reading experience for you, our loyal reader. We are committed to entertainment.

Sadly, what you are about to read is true. No embellishment or artistic license here. Not this time. (Yeah, I’m breaking the rules just this once.)

I started the new job back in October 2010. Like the little engine who thought he could, I thought I could avoid the bathroom. I tried and tried. I really did. But after a few weeks I finally gave in. What can I say? I’m only (partially) human.

The first thing I noticed was the door handle was broken. It wouldn’t lock.

As spooky as that was, things went fairly well. If the door was closed and the fan was on (it’s tied to the light switch) then you knew the room was in use. You didn’t go in.

Until seven months later. Until this week.

Tom B. Taker

At last my training is complete. Coworker just walked in on me using the toilet. Door has broken lock. Get me off this fucking planet!!!

11 May via Twitter for iPhone

 bambi in the toilet

Sorry to be so graphic, but this is EXACTLY what it looked like.

Yep. Female coworker, walking around like a brain-dead idiot, flung the door open to the restroom while I was … erm, how shall I say? Doing my best thinking!

Yep. Believe it.

Yep. There is a Hell. And I’m already dead. I’m a permanent resident. And I’m looking forward to next week’s annexation vote. Be afraid if you already live within Hell’s urban growth boundary. You’re next, motherfucker.

Remarkably I took it fairly well. I imagine it was a much worse experience for her than it was for me.

Yep. Seven fucking months with employees and it never once occurred to the boss to get the lock on the bathroom door fixed. So yeah, I blame him. I blame him hard. Hate isn’t supposed to be good, but it’s a healthy hate.

You’d think an incident like this would be enough to spur him into action. You’d be wrong. He’s the slob of the century. Reminder: He felt compelled to tell the rest of us why washing your hands after using the restroom is a “waste of time.” One time he was in the bathroom and I heard the toilet flush. Within half a second the door opened and he hopped out. Yep. No sounds of running water. He then came directly to me, held up his hand and said, “High five!”

Holy shit. Who thinks up scenarios like this? Not only am I an atheist, I actively pray there isn’t a God. Because, let’s face it, I don’t want to meet whoever thought this shit up.

But wait. There’s more!

Tom B. Taker

Holy mother of God!!! The toilet walk-in thing just happened AGAIN. This time by the boss. I love being surrounded by zombies. #walkamongus

12 May via Twitter for iPhone

This time the boss himself graced me with his presence. Yeppers. I shit you not. (Although I was shitting at the time.)

This one got me. It got me good. I was so fucking pissed.

I came out and the boss was gone. Coworker filled me in. “He went to see the landlord about fixing the lock.”


I was so pissed I got the shakes. They went full throttle for about two hours. I had to get out of there. I took a late lunch. I left the building That helped a little. But four hours later, I was still so upset I still had the shakes. Did I mention I was fucking pissed?

God I hate that fucking place. Oh look! It’s time for me to go there again. Ta ta for now!

When you flush, please stop and think of me. I’ll be there!

I was promised poo

Don't be such a turd!

I have good news and bad news. In what order do you want it?

And here we go again … introducing yet another new feature to the blog-yo-sphere. I’m dubbing this invention blog reader interactivity. For the first time, you get to choose the story!

If you want the good news first, read the following paragraphs in numerical order. If you prefer it the other way around (and hey, who doesn’t?) then simply read those paragraphs in reverse order. Read to interact? Go!

1. Living Dilbert has returned to the scene of the crime … wait, erm, I mean, her blog. Yeah, that’s it. Yeah, her blog! This is huge. And good.

2. She promised to blog about, and I quote: “I can’t poo at this job.”As we go to press with this posting, that missive still hasn’t seen the light of day. That’s the bad news. No doubt it will pop up later. I hope.

As the current world record holder in the category of “Poop Where You Work” I am very interested in what she has to say about the topic. I await that post with baited breath.

I know what LD, means, though. I recently took on a new job. It’s been almost four months now. It took a few weeks before I was even able to pee for the first time. That bathroom was disgusting. But, and let me know if this is in any way Too Much Information (TMI), it took over three months before my one and only poo activity at work, and that only happened this week because I was deathly ill. Before that vicious blow I had successfully trained my body to be more mindful of work hours.

Sure, you can save a lot of money on toilet paper if you only poop at work, but that’s not my bag. Not when you hang out with The Unclean. They can be so … dirty.

My relationship with poop on this blog is a storied one and the stuff of legend. It all started one day when I posted an economic theory of mine. I call it Gold Nugget economics. Quite simply, it is the theory that I am gold and you are poop. This forms the basis of all economic tension that makes the entire world go around.

A few posts like that and soon, quite unplanned, I assure you, “poop” stood alone as the Big Kahuna in my tag cloud. Not one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed that poop and ran with it. I seized the day. I swore, right then and there, that poop would always remain this blog’s #1 tag, and I’m proud to say my commitment there has never wavered.

The first real volley in the poop genre, however, was launched about a month into my blog. That’s when I keenly noticed that I worked eight feet away from where people pooped. Not a bad start.

Sometimes customers use the work toilet, too. If they do, you’ve got a job to do when they leave, shall we say, surprises?

Of course, it should be no big surprise to anyone that I went on to break my own record in the “distance to toilet” department. This is no small achievement!

So, in summation, allow me to say this once again. Make no mistake about it. I’m glad Living Dilbert is back. 🙂

Poop Encounters of the Turd Kind

High five!

Behind The Tweets is a new ongoing feature here at the Abyss. In this series of posts I’ll select a tweet (most likely one of my very little nuggets of delight) and provide the exciting back story that 140 characters just didn’t allow.

Finally, the rest of the story will be told.

This is just too much fun. Let’s get started!

The Tweet

Boss in restroom. Lots of “noise” indicating a certain activity. No running water after flush. Then wants high five. I had to decline. #yuck

The Story

It was a normal day at work. It happened to be New Year’s Eve. My wife had the day off but my place of employment was open. Wide open. In fact, it was the only place open on the entire block. I’m just lucky that way.

I was at my workstation which, as I’ve discussed before, is only a few feet from the toilet. I’m just lucky that way.

It all started when the boss went into the restroom. In a matter of seconds, there was an explosion of noise that could only be described as a “whoopie cushion on steroids.” I still can’t believe I have to listen to this shit. (Pun intended.) It happens every day, and not to put too fine a point on it, the dude holds nothing back.

OK. I can grok that. In the end (heh) we all have to deal with forces of nature beyond our control. It might be somewhat unpalatable, but what can I do?

Then, I heard the toilet flush. I happened to be walking by on my way to the back.

A mere second later the door flung open and the boss leaped out.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!

There had been no sound of running water. Oh geez, help me hang on, he didn’t wash his hands!!!

What happened next could only happen in a Stephen King novel or my life. (Take your pick.) I shit you not.

He jumped into my personal space (that’s another story), held up his hand, and said, “High five!”

Oh God, no. Hell no. I could only stand there like a deer in the highlights, my analytical brain doing its best to process information more quickly than normal. Nothing in life had prepared me for this moment.

My thoughts drifted back to Home Economics in the 7th grade. Yeah, good times. I was the only boy in the class, hanging out with the girls, eating chocolate chip cookies, while my peers were in Wood Shop making lamps out of blocks of wood. Yeah, I knew what I was doing even back then!

I remembered the day when my Home Economics teacher drew a figure of a girl on the blackboard with lines emanating outwards from her that indicated stink. The message of that day has not been forgotten. Hygiene is important.

But even that class and nothing later in life had done anything at all to prepare me for this particular social situation. How does one handle something like this?

I had to do something. My boss was standing there with his hand still up and waiting for me to respond. It was awkward as hell. Finally I found my voice.

“I can’t,” I managed to choke out. “I just can’t.”

In retrospect, with the luxury of time to consider possible responses, I should have just given him the high five, then gone to the bathroom to sterilize. I still have my anti-bacterial hand soap and squirt bottle of hand sterilizer in my cubbyhole at work. It wouldn’t have killed me.

But I just couldn’t.

And now you know the rest of the story. You have been behind the tweet. Good day!

My quotation effort for prosperity

Hand washingI have decided that I want to be famous and live on beyond my meager years, you know, just like a lot of other folks have done.

I’m talking about getting your name associated with a quotation. Centuries after you are gone your name may still be dropped in association with the quotation – and that is nothing to shake a stick at!

So, after hard work and careful consideration, I have come up with the following effort. This will be my quotation legacy!


Never eat chocolate pudding after going to the bathroom and droppin’ a duece.