Poop Encounters of the Turd Kind
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!
Boss in restroom. Lots of “noise” indicating a certain activity. No running water after flush. Then wants high five. I had to decline. #yuck
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!
Big diff – poop wages war on diarrhea
As one of the foremost “poop correspondents” on the internet it falls on me (no pun intended) to bring you this explosive story. Here’s my report filed from the trenches…
Recently, Brea thoughtfully tipped me off regarding some interesting news in the medical world. News that was right up my alley (so to speak).
To put this succinctly, poop transplants are now being performed as “last-ditch treatments” in the fight against an illness known as clostridium difficile or more commonly as “CDF/cdf” or “c. diff.”
According to Wikipedia, c. diff “is a species of Gram-positive bacteria of the genus Clostridium that causes diarrhea and other intestinal disease when competing bacteria are wiped out by antibiotics.”
The disease can be remarkably hard to treat and can be fatal. According to a story in the Associated Press, C. diff is “a germ that so ravages some people’s intestines that repeated tries of the strongest, most expensive antibiotic can’t conquer their disabling diarrhea.”
In dire cases, a new treatment consisting of a “transplant” of fecal matter from a healthy person is performed. A doctor in the story claims, “[fecal matter] is the ultimate probiotic.” (Probiotics are live microorganisms thought to be healthy for the host organism.)
I can only imagine how that doctor/patient consultation goes down. “Your problem, as you well know, is diarrhea. Our plan is to take poop from someone healthy and put it inside you. Poop will be the solution to your diarrhea.”
Sounds ass backwards to me.
It’s a little more complicated than that. The transplant procedure involves relocation of an “entire bacterial neighborhood” from the healthy donor.
Here’s the fun part. C. diff is thought to commonly be a “nosocomial infection.” That’s just a fancy way of saying the C. diff infection is often the “result of treatment in a hospital or a healthcare service unit.”
You go in for health care and come away with a little unplanned bonus. Interesting how that works, eh?
According to Wikipedia, a stay in the hospital up to two weeks represents a 13% chance to pick up the C. diff infection. A stay of four-weeks or more and that rate jumps to a whopping 50 percent!
I wish I was making this stuff up. All I can say is, “I’m not shitting you!”
As a poop correspondent, I’ve often sat around spending my free time daydreaming about things like hand washing rates. (Hand washing represents a substantial chunk of my “Poop Manifesto” I’m hoping to release someday.) We’ve all heard the stories about public handrails with more than 500 different sources of fecal matter on them. Or how people in public restrooms tend to wash their hands more often when they are being watched.
As a civilization we are apparently not big on the whole concept of hand washing and cleanliness. Even though science has told us about the dangers for a long time now.
Imagine a place where you think hand washing would reign supreme. Imagine people who you think would be best at it. It isn’t too hard to surmise that a place like an Intensive Care Unit (ICU) within a hospital might be such a place, right? And that people like doctors might be experts at washing hands, right? We’ve all seen the surgeons at Mash 4077 like Hawkeye, Trapper John and B.J. Hunnicutt “scrub” before working on patients. For them it was a big deal.
As it often turns out, it’s no big surprise (at least to me) when reality turns out to be just a wee bit different.
When doing my research, one thing I noticed was that the ICU industry (for lack of a better term) seemed to be bragging about hand washing rates of 97%. My reaction: How the hell is that something to brag about in a frickin’ hospital???
But it’s worse than that. Much worse. Studies have found that hand washing rates in ICUs are appalling low. Even after “awaresness campaigns,” specialized training, and even when employees are told that their hand washing will be monitored. And these are the people that take care of the sick?
One study found that within an ICU setting, there was a hand washing rate of 72.8%. Nurses were best with a rate of 97.5%. Technicians came in second with a rate of 47.7%. Are you ready to guess who came in last place? Yep, doctors, with a rate of 37.6%.
37.6%? Holy shit!
The study also found that an “educational program” about hand washing improved the hand washing rate among nurses and technicians, but not doctors. Said the study, “No statistically significant changes in the handwashing behaviour among doctors was observed during the study period.” Is this the “God complex” at work? Apparently doctors don’t like to be told what to do, about anything, from anyone. Oh, put your hands on me, doctor! And some people actually want to date doctors?
Side story: My wife worked in a doctor’s office. It was a small office where people sat a few feet away from the restroom. When someone did their business you could hear every “plop,” if you know what I mean. More importantly, however, you could hear if running water was turned on. Running water that would imply that hand washing was taking place. And guess who used the restroom and didn’t turn on the water before coming back out? Yep! The doctor! One of my favorite expressions used to be, “The doctor will fee you now.” But I think that’s old and busted. From now on, I’m updating my phrase to “The doctor will pee you now.” It think that’s a lot more apropos.
So, it seems to me, we just might have identified at least one culprit when it comes to nosocomial infections, eh? Do a serious internet search regarding the problem of simply getting health care workers to wash their hands and you begin to get an idea about the magnitude of the problem we’re facing.
The good news is that, since getting it’s humble start in hospitals and such, C. diff now seems to be making headway in the “outpatient setting,” also known as the general community outside of hospitals. You know, where people like you and me live our daily lives.
Humans! Is there anything they can’t do?
Thanks, Brea, for getting me started! 🙂
Employees must pretend to wash hands
Today’s post is brought to you by my splitting headache. I checked out of the game yesterday and today and became low-functioning myself. I may have popped my cork with some self-induced anger and frustration. Perhaps we’ll delve into that some other time…
I think I’ve blogged about the proximity of the mother fucking toilet to my office once or twice, eh? You think you’ve got problems? Try putting your office and desk a mere eight feet away from where people poop. Try it, god dammit!
What normally goes with pooping? For most of us that might be a little thing called hand washing. Our company even provides a sign that says, “EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS.” What our company does not provide, however, is fucking hand soap!
A little prerequisite reading for this post (or not, whatever, who fucking cares):
Pooping where you work
I pooped at work and … EIEEEE!
Feeling pooped out
How does a rat get in your toilet?
Employees must wash hands
Long story short, the hand soap in our office ran out about three weeks ago. The owner has been hanging around our office these three weeks and using the bathroom just like the rest of us.
Amongst his other traits, the owner happens to be a friggin’ germaphobe. He must have learned how to become one while getting his Masters in psychology. He’s always disinfecting his hands, wiping down doorknobs, sterilizing mouses and keyboards, and fun stuff like that.
So it was truly awe-inspiring and amazing to watch him, day after day, use that restroom and not use fucking hand soap on his mother fucking hands.
I can hear the water run. I can hear towels being pulled. I can hear the garbage can lid slam shut as he throws his towels away. “Who the fuck does he think he’s fooling?” I ask myself again and again.
Me? I’m too smart for that. I’ve been down this road before. I keep my own personal backup stash of hand soap and hand sterilizer in the cabinet in my office. Oh yes. I’m the one and only employee in the outfit who actually washes poop off with soap. Call me the next level of evolution if you will. I’ll take it.
More boss fun coming soon, I promise. I have a lot to say about that douche nozzle of late. With the onset of summer he tends to show more of his plumage. I can hardly wait.
Reek ‘em and weep
Most every day I do something unusual. Well, most every day. Usually on the days I decide to leave the house. You know – go out in public and shiznit.
This unusual thing I do is clean myself with soap and water. I generally try to make myself presentable and put actual effort into things like how I smell. Do I want to smell especially delicious? No, I couldn’t care less about that. On the other hand, I don’t want to reek like a hungry bung hole, either.
That means I try to wash off most of my body odor, brush my teeth, have fresh breath and put on clean clothes. I’m no Mr. GQ, in fact, I’m pretty much live my life as if wrinkles are the new cool, but having a dumpy appearance is my problem. Smelling disgusting is everyone’s problem.
I know life sucks and all, but can you at least put some effort into not making me puke if I’m unlucky enough to encounter you on this giant blue marble we call home? I swear to God that some people wake up and say to themselves, “I think I’ll put in extra effort to be disgusting today. I’m going to live like I’m trying to win an ugly contest.”
When I say that trying to not smell disgusting is something unusual, that is based on my empirical observations. It is based on the number of people I meet on a daily basis that smell so disgusting that literally provoke my gag reflex. Come on, people! Can’t you make any effort at all?
I want to ask them if they can do me a favor. You see, I’ve never in my entire life smelled a dead body (or what the cops call a DB.) So the next time I’m watching “CSI” perhaps they can do me a solid and stop by my crib during a particularly grisly scene to give the experience that extra boost of realism so I can really get into my favorite show. Just think of it as surround sound home theater for the nose!
Ah, America. The land of the freedom. Some of our most cherished freedoms include the right to be an asshole and the right to smell like a steaming pile of shit. Your freedom should fucking end where my nose begins.
Let’s be honest here. 99% of the time when I’m talking about someone who reeks I’m talking about a smoker. I’ve known many smokers in my life who, for some strange reason, never reeked like a tobacco factory. They cared about their appearance and took care of themselves and smoked outside and for some reason the smell wouldn’t glom onto them like Tiger Woods on classy women.
I don’t know why, but some smokers are more smell “sticky” that others. And my sweet Lord it can be bad. It really makes a statement when you walk through a room and the vomit-inducing odor hangs around for half an hour. Seriously. Clean yourself up.
And more importantly, if you smell that bad, how can you not fucking know it? I can imagine only two possibilities. Either you know about your odor and you just don’t give a shit or somehow you remain completely clueless, perhaps because you destroyed any smelling capability in your nose years ago. I find it completely inconceivable that someone could smell like that and not be aware, but I guess anything is possible.
Perhaps I’ll make my own YouTube video someday. It will feature me (with off-screen bodyguards) asking reeky motherfuckers, “Why do you smell so goddamn disgusting?” I guess that would make me a street scientist of sorts, eh? Those would be some interesting results I’m sure.
All hail freedom and the never-ending onslaught on my nose.