Over the past month or so, I’ve noticed that the in toilet Stall #1 in one of my building’s bathrooms is inevitably occupied by feces by mid-afternoon. The toilet sits like that, unchanged and unused, for the rest of the day, every day. I assumed that the perpetrator (we’ll call him the Pooppeteer) doesn’t flush because he’s worried that the toilet will overflow. But today, spurred by the realization that the excrement releases unhealthy bacteria into the air, I extended my leg into Stall #1, pointed my toe, and depressed the flusher. I turned away, shielding my face from the airborne poop particles, and when I looked back, the flush had been successful.
Needless to say, this drew my ire.
There’s some guy in my building who just doesn’t flush. He poops, and then he gets outta there. Who does that?!
I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps when he was potty trained, the lessons didn’t involve flushing. Perhaps he’s never flushed. So I will be his teacher. I will be Michelle Pfeiffer to his angry black kid who learns that poetry is just another way to rap. I will be the wing beneath his wings.
Thus, I created and posted this to the back of the stall door. It’s been up there for a few hours—I just checked, and it’s still there. May it be a lesson to us all.