Friday, February 24, 2006

Great Expectations 

FAB would like to give a big shout out to the women's bathroom at the Masquerade for winning the prestigious prize in the category of "Most Disgusting Bathroom We've Experienced Since Residing in Atlanta." While the Masquerade bathroom certainly wasn't the foulest one we've ever seen, half of the bathroom experience is about expectations. We've peed in some sketchy locations in Eastern Europe, Northern India, West Africa, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia that easily surpass the Masquerade in utter nastiness. However, we were so appalled last night that we nearly dropped our cookies on the floor during our first post-two-beer visit because we had no inkling whatsoever of the squalor we were about to encounter. None of FAB's subsequent visits were nearly as vomit-inducing as the first because, by then, I was much older and more worldly wise. However, let me tell you about that first, rather desperate visit. I confidently strode into the powder room as though I had the world on my shoulders and was immediately punched in the face with an odor that you might expect in the low-budget port-a-potty beside a seaside shrimp shack. I then had to look through each stall in the naive hope of finding one with toilet paper AND whose throne was not all pissed upon or bearing unwelcome leftover gifts of the unflushable variety. This mission was not accomplished, but I did finally manage to locate some toilet paper over by the sinks mere seconds before my bladder exploded.

And a lingering question, if you're one of those anal retentive yet still incompetent individuals who, quite understandably, does not want to touch your backside to the toilet seat yet also inexplicably lacks the aim and/or the quadriceps to master the hover-squat maneuver such that you must lay down a blanket of toilet paper on the seat, why then did you still insist on hovering, thereby completely saturating all of the toilet paper that, moments before, you had so lovingly and painstakingly draped over the seat? Or alternatively, if you weren't hovering then what the fuck happened in there?

And a big genuine thanks to Leah for capturing a picture of one of the stalls in all of its glory, a task that FAB clearly did not have the gag reflexes to undertake.

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