The men's washroom at work is gross. Disgusting. Filthy. I physically cringe whenever I walk in. We've had more than a couple overflow situations. There's at least one artist in the building that uses snot as his medium and any surface in the bathroom as his canvas. We've heard disturbing reports that this artist has turned saboteur and is now placing his favourite medium under the toilet paper dispenser. Yah, I don't use the toilets at work.
With a rigid poop schedule and abstaining from mexican food and hot wings through the work week, this hasn't been an issue. The urinals are unavoidable however. Man's got to pee. I usually hold my breath, avoid looking at any open stall doors, and do what needs to be done. The other day I'm doing what needs to be done and I let my one unoccupied hand rest on the flush valve of the urinal. And my fingers came away wet.
Now this was more than likely some weeping from a leaky valve. But the imagination wanders. And given the surrounding environment it didn't have to wander far for me to conjure some rather disturbing sources for that wetness. I finished my business, zipped up with my dry hand, and spent 10 minutes scrubbing the other hand with disinfectant and scalding hot water. When I finished, I bid adieu to the washroom. I am now peeing exclusively at the McDonald's across the parking lot.