Throwing Poo

This week my job required that I go to Grand Rapids for a couple of days.  Instead of spending ten hours in the car driving from Cleveland, I decided to fly to Chicago Midway and drive the remaining distance.  While the total trip still takes ten hours, I only spend six hours driving and the other four are available for reading, writing, and my new hobby: collecting interesting and exotic airborne pathogens.

This itinerary is totally rational and efficient, except if your flight gets delayed.  If that happens, the plan turns into a colossal time sink and sends me into a downward spiral of self-loathing. 

Guess what happened today? 

Even though I wrapped up my work in GR (Grand Rapids or God's Realm, either fits) at 10:00AM this morning, I won't arrive home until 8:30PM tonight.  Remember all that bright and cheery shit from yesterday?  Yeah.  That's long fucking gone.  Stupid happiness.

Since I'll be spending at least 6.5 hours in an airport, I thought I'd share with you an excerpt from my new book, "YUCK! A Germophobe's Guide To Business Travel."  This is from the chapter titled  "Making Lemonade":

Face it, my fussy friend.  Unless you're willing to risk an intestinal burst, you're going to have to relieve yourself in an airport bathroom.  But relax.  Planning is the key to satisfying, anxiety-free crapping in any public toliet. 

First, check the airport layout and choose a restroom that has multiple stalls.  The last thing you want when you're settled in for a session is some ill-prepared IBS sufferer pounding on your door and pleading for mercy.  Even if you are able to ignore this slob and finish your business, you still risk slipping in their imminent remnants as you exit. 

Now, the most important thing to remember when using an airport restroom is to not touch anything.  Picture, if you will, that all the surfaces and objects - from the walls, faucets, and floors to the other patrons  - are covered in shit.  The reason for this is that, quite literally, they are.  Bend your hands inward at the wrists and let them hang like slabs of dead meat - they are of no use to you here.  Bathroom survival is all about elbows.  Think elbows.  You are Mr. Elbows. 

Elbow-open a stall door and make sure there is plenty of toilet paper - you're going to need it.  If so, hip-check shut the door and hang your bags from the coat hook.  Using the heel of your shoe, flush the toilet three times to freshen the bowl.  Next, being careful not to touch the dispenser, tear off the first few sheets of toilet paper and toss them in the bowl.  From this point on, the toilet paper is considered clean.  (NOTE: Do not use paper from a loose roll.  God only knows how many cretins have stuck their shit-covered fingers in the tube.)  Next, generously squirt Purell on the seat and wipe vigorously with toilet paper.  Flush again - the Purell on the toilet paper will act as an additional sanitizing agent for the bowl.   Once the seat is sanitized, cover it entirely with two seat covers or layers of toilet paper. 

But wait!  Don't drop trow just yet.

Stream two double-sided lengths of toilet paper from the seat down the front of the bowl.  This will protect your exposed calves from the horrible germapalozza festering on the sweaty outside of the bowl.  

Finally, if you are a fastidious person, you might want to layer the floor in front of the bowl with several sheets of toilet paper.  This will protect your trouser cuffs from the invisible moat of piss and shit that surround the bowl.

Now you're ready to sit. 

Check for a cellophane-wrapped copy of "YUCK" at a Bookstore neat you. 

P.S. I'm not crazy.

P.P.S. I brushed past Wesley Clark in Midway Airport.  He was the VP on my 2004 Dream Team Ticket.  How cool is that?