July 23, 2008
Toolbag Wednesday #9: The Bathroom Troll
It’s been a while since I’ve celebrated toolbaggery in the world, and this one’s long overdue. I give you: the Bathroom Troll.
Like that cartoon troll who hides under a bridge in some cracked out fairy tale, requesting a fee to cross and tricking princesses into all sorts of terribleness, this woman is more often than not a bathroom stall away from jumping out and locking you into conversations you don’t want to have.
Conversations about her daughter, her daughter’s boyfriend, her daughter’s boyfriend’s cocker spaniel named Fred who went to the vet last month to get his “glands” squeezed. Conversations about her weekend watching a sport that no one in this country gives a hoot about. Conversations about the right hand ring you’re wearing. Seriously lady, it’s ON MY RIGHT HAND and obviously not an engagement ring, so don’t grab at my hand and invite yourself into my private life!
This habit is especially egregious in my world. I am very opinionated about bathroom etiquette. In particular, I regard it as bad form to take the stall next to an occupied one when there are three other perfectly good ones available. I also can’t believe that it needs saying, but apparently it does; always wash your freaking hands (I’ll spy through the crack to see who you are and then refuse to buy your cookies at the next bake sale), and never wash your feet in the toilet (a woman in line for the ladies room at Navy Pier actually said she was going to do this last weekend- for real). And last, but by no means least, do not for any reason “hang out” in there like it’s a god damned lounge or something. Get in, conduct your business, and get out. It’s that simple.
Which brings me back to our Toolbag of the week. The Troll loves the bathroom. Loves, loves, loves it. It’s like she thinks it’s play time and that because all women go to the bathroom eventually, she instantly has SO MUCH in common with you and you’re suddenly life-long friends.
My most recent run in with the Troll involved me hiding out in the stall to avoid her while she took her sweet ass time; 1) washing her hands, 2) drying her hands, 3) fixing her hair, 4) brushing her teeth, 5) flossing her teeth, 6) wiping dry the entire counter top, 7) washing her hands again, 8) drying her hands again, and 9) stopping by the mirror one last time before leaving. No joke. I was marooned in there for 15 minutes.
At which point, some other woman (probably one of the Troll’s minions) came in to, get this……..do her dishes. WTF?
BC said,
July 24, 2008 at 5:55 am
reason number 37 it’s good to be a male: we don’t talk in the bathroom. we go into the bathroom, do our business, wash our hands and then promptly leave.
good addition to the toolbag.
Thomas said,
July 28, 2008 at 8:10 pm
We can’t even look at anyone in the bathroom. Even by accident.
Fiber One Bar = Armageddon « Nic Narrates said,
January 16, 2009 at 11:47 am
[...] desk; I kicked off my snow boots, grabbed my work shoes, and literally ran shoeless to the Ladies. Just in time to see a coworker duck inside. [...]
Champion of the Stall « Nic Narrates said,
March 26, 2009 at 9:12 am
[...] The Troll has struck again. Girlfriend can’t get enough. She just loves it in there. Which I just don’t get because honestly? It’s a BATHROOM. It’s not nice in there- there’s no couch or soft lighting or fancy hand lotions or anything. In fact, they hardly heat the d@mn thing (again, not swearing), which makes winter time extra special for us ladies. Plus, the joint smells like a bathroom because…it’s a bathroom. In this latest encounter, however, The Troll made the vague impression of having A Reason for being in there, which turned into a twenty minute odyssey. [...]