The other day I was thinking about some of the heavier things on my mind as I walked into the bathroom here at work. For my money, there truly is no better place to think deeply, but I know that the Zen-like state I achieve while in there isn't necessarily common. To be honest, I still think anyone who can't crap in public* is a BigFatSally, but obviously I'm not someone that has HUGE hygeine issues.

*Yes, I purposely said, "crap in public," as opposed to "crap in a public restroom."

I was looking forward to my solitude and an extended period of brooding, followed by an epiphany or two, concluding with a triumphant shout (all of this referencing both what goes on in my mind and my... well... arguably where my brain is actually located). When I opened the door, I indeed gave a gave a shout, but it was of pure disgust, as I saw that someone had obviously packed a double-barrel shotgun with Remington's AssJuice Loads, and fired with both barrels in the general vicinity of the toilet.

I realized that chances were slim that I would now be able to acheive enlightenment (once again, referencing both parts) if ever, and I left to go notify building management that their Hazmat Team was about to meet it's match. On my way hurriedly out of Mr. Hanky's murder scene, I brushed past Eduardo, a vaunted member of said building management staff (meaning he actually speaks English). He was holding an "Out of Order" sign and walking purposefully towards the Stall of Doom. As he made his way in whistling a happy tune, I was already in Full-on-Matrix-Style-Slow-Mo-Up-the-Side-of-Wall mode to stop him until I realized that he was also carrying cleaning supplies and was obviously well apprised of the situation.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief, as Eduardo is middle management of the cleaning services people, and I had full confidence in his ability to handle the situation accordingly by calling in an airstrike and nuking the entire bathroom. I was fine with that, thinking, "I'll walk down a flight of stairs to shit from now on, thank you."

I turned to leave and heard him still whistling happily as he was no doubt staring DeathByShit straight in the face. I figured he was either steeling his resolve and working on breathing through his mouth, or he was going through a mental list of his employees that were deserving of such a foul fate as to have to approach that Brown Evilness. I waited before going downstairs for a minute or so, and his cheeriness never faltered, even though I could hear him cleaning away the remnants of the Intestinal God's cruel joke.

On my way back up to my office, I ran into Eduardo in the hallway.

"Hey Eddie. Man, that was somethin', eh?" (Gesturing to bathroom)

"Si, si... 'eet was SOMEthin." (Nodding solemnly)

"You sure seem like you're in a good mood though, what's up?"

"Oh, I jes' happy. I loaf my job, eeven when I have to clean dairty toilets."

That really hit me. That's all he sees when he looks at what's left when a Pudding Cup explodes all over a bathroom stall... a "Dairty Toilet," and he loves his job so much it doesn't seem to bother him.

The seemingly overwhelming stuff I'd been dealing with suddenly seemed insignificant, and I realized that my perspective was just skewed.

I've got it pretty good, and even though I've got my share of "Dairty Toilets" in my life that need cleaning... I'm going to be whistling while I do it.

Unless they really ARE "Dairty" like that one was... then I'm going to gag uncontrollably and envision Splittin' the Fookin' Skooll of the FuckKnuckle whose ass exploded.