J, A and I walked over to the Far East for dinner tonight (again). While supping on Pineapple Coleslaw Salad (is there a coleslaw that isn’t a salad?), Breaded Chicken Breast and, of course, Stir Fry our conversation turned, inevitably, to a discussion about washrooms. You see, a few days ago ownership of our accommodations building changed hands. Unfortunately, the company now responsible for maintenance of our building doesn’t think that cleaning is their responsibility. Similarly, the company that previously maintained the building has washed its hands of that responsibility. So, our already disgusting washrooms have reached entirely new levels of ohmyfuckI’mgonnavomitishness.
Today, poor A was feeling under the weather so took the day off and stayed back in his room. I got a surprisingly matter-of-fact email from him telling me that there was no toilet paper in the washrooms and none to be found anywhere in the accommodations block. I replied that he should check the breezeway because there were boxes of the stuff there a couple of days ago. But no, apparently the previous maintenance company took it all when they handed over responsibility. Thanks. Given the nature of A’s…umm…malady, I understood that getting some TP to him may be a matter of some urgency. So, I grabbed five rolls from the rocket at work, urged all the folks on shift to take a roll and one for a friend when they left that evening and high-tailed it to the rooms. Now, “high-tailing it” in KAF is somewhat less frantic as it is done between 20 and 40 kph. For those not easily bored and/or interested in a tour of KAF, I made a video of the entire 17 minute experience. Once again, I do not condone photography while driving. I condone very little of my own behaviour.
Me:”It’s really preferable to use a rocket rather than our vile bathroom anyway…even when it is being regularly cleaned.”
J:”But you have to time it right” .
Me: “Of course. You don’t want to be sitting in a rocket at 45C at three in the afternoon” (At that point it’s pretty much a very disgusting sauna with a hybrid steam consisting of poo, urine and antiseptic).
Me:“And I hate going into them right after they’ve been pressure washed. The sides are all wet and I’m like ‘ewwww, I don’t want to touch anything'”
A:”Timing is very important. If you’re going to ‘sit’, you have to use it after it’s been pressure washed AND has had a chance to dry but before anyone else has used it. In August, that’s about 20 minutes.”
We all nodded solemnly in agreement.
This is what we have become; people who earnestly talk about the best place to take a poo while
happily contentedly resignedly eating pineapple coleslaw salad.
“People say conversation is a lost art; how often I have wished it were.” – Edward R. Murrow