That Really Chaps My Hide

I’m not mincing words today. If you have dropped your phone in a toilet, you are a dolt.

Times I have taken a phone into a public bathroom: ZERO

Why are any of you doing this? Who feels compelled to chat whilst voiding? (Don’t you hate that term when the doctor asks how often you void? Yeesh.) Women, aren’t your phones in your purse? Men, perhaps your phone is too big if it’s falling out of your small pockets. It’s not that smart if it keeps diving into a toilet bowl, is it?

Times I have dropped said phone in a toilet: ZERO

ZERO! Don’t get me wrong; I love multi-tasking, but this is not the time for it. Slow down, peeps. Don’t tinkle and text.

The truth is numbers one and two have really been getting some screen time lately in this country. I don’t think the nation has been so excited about elimination since Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo.


I don’t need to “enjoy the go.” I get in and get out. I have never taken reading material into a bathroom to spend time in there. Many folks have. More power to you. Maybe that’s really enjoying the go. I enjoy getting out. And by the way, I don’t need a cheeky British woman to talk to me about my bum. I don’t need an intervention to discuss the Cottonelle Care Routine.

Let's talk about your busy leggings, instead.
Let’s talk about your busy leggings, instead.

But I do need a decent roll of tissue because dammit, this is America. Public restrooms are the worst. I realize they have to keep costs down, but don’t they realize if they only offer one-ply (I usually refer to it as “half-ply”) tissue, we’re just going to spend twice as long, spinning/yanking/tugging it down in three inch increments, like a nipped-out cat–until it falls to the floor like a cascading waterfall. I know you’ve heard people in adjacent stalls, struggling to liberate the paper from its receptacle. It sounds like the dryer when he-who-shall-not-be-named leaves his Leatherman in his blue jeans pockets. Don’t they realize less than a foot can take of care of business if it’s a decent quality tissue?

Perhaps you’ve heard about the conditions in Sochi. Evidently, some journalists found signs in their bathrooms saying: “Please do not flush toilet paper down the toilet! Put it in the bin provided.” No no no no! The toilet is a receptacle for waste. That includes paper. If your poo can go down it, so can paper. If not, you need to get another toilet. Because that is the toilet’s job. It takes the bad things away.

If you are a lady, you have no doubt squeezed into a public bathroom stall and no sooner hung your purse up on the hook (if there is a hook, God willing), when a sign screams at you, “No feminine products in the toilet!” And then an apologetic thesis paper follows on their pathetic septic system. Sorry, no dice. Items once in the body do NOT need to accumulate in tin bins or trash cans. That is nasty. N-A-S-T-Y. Public restrooms are a festering cesspool enough without the stench of rotting deer carcass hitting you in the face when all you wanted was to wash the gasoline off your hands. I am not down with septic tanks, people. Get with the city sewer system. Now that’s alliteration!

So why am I on my soapbox about this? Glad you asked. Well, last week I purchased a package of Charmin, and when I got it home and put it the RIGHT way (with the tissue OVER instead of under), I realized it was a transparent, scratchy Third World excuse for tissue. We subsequently checked all the rolls, and they were all like that. I made a call to Proctor & Gamble tout suite, as the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and my CSR sent a coupon to replace the purposefully cheapskate damaged product. So yesterday, I’m at the store, and after directing an elderly woman to the fabric softener (aisle 14), I realize I have a choice betwixt ultra-strong or ultra-soft.

voteI don’t know about you, but I have never in my life felt that I needed stronger tissue, that perhaps it was lacking in strength. A rough tissue is not what I need. Plush, perhaps. Not strong. And what exactly makes the difference? What do they add to one that they don’t add to the other? Why not marry the two? Sweet AND sour. Black AND tan. Why can’t it be both things? Sorry if this has been offensive, but I have to add this as yet another thing I DON’T GET.

Operator, Could You Help Me Place This Call?

I used to watch Good Times when I was young, and JJ would always answer the phone, “Cello?” (like the instrument). It reeked of cool, even for a gangly ghetto brother.

Before facetiming and apps and smartphones that could shut your garage door for you, phones were a means of communication by using one’s voice. Certain phone images from pop culture take us back to moments in our lives.

How could we forget the iconic scene in It’s A Wonderful Life? I can feel the sexual tension from here.

This one still gives me the creeps. “We’ve traced the call, and it’s coming from inside the house.”

1979 When A Stranger Calls--
1979 When A Stranger Calls–

Dum dum dum!!

Surely you remember this scene in 1985’s Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure when Pee Wee tells the bikers, “Shhh! I’m trying to use the phone!”

Even E.T. tried to get in on the action. But he never did phone home.

But the celeb with by far the most phone pics is the one and only Norma Jean Baker. She favored cross-your-heart phones, endorsed by her pal Jane Russell.

Apparently, she tagteamed quite often.

Although at home, she needed the casual ease of one hand free to express herself.

Keeping private conversations confidential…

In her earlier years, she posed with phones for cheesecake shots. I bet there wasn’t even anyone on the line…

Then she got the call from JFK: it was over.

And she took it well.