I am getting really pissed off with, well... Piss.
I know I only go in to university one day a week so I shouldn't let it bother me this much. But, yuck.
There's a man who uses the disabled toilet in the building I have lectures in and wees *everywhere*. And I know it's a bloke because women aren't anatomically designed to spray that liberally.
Some days the room is more like a swimming pool. Except it smells more like wee and less like bleach of course.
I know that some people live with incontinence and sometimes accidents happen. But, seriously... clean it up! Have a little respect for your fellow humans.
One day I'm going to slip over in the wee and wind up on the floor, with a broken leg, covered in his urine. You'd hope that the police could test the DNA on the wee all over my clothes and charge him with some kind of assault for setting off a chain of events which left me injured. But that doesn't even happen in CSI so it's certainly not going to happen in real life.
And it's not just the floor... it's the seat too! I know most women squat rather than sit when faced with a grim loo, but some of us aren't physically capable of that. If I try squatting I just fall down. And land in his pee. Lovely.
So, I decide to find a safer, less vile toilet. What do you do when leaving a toilet? Turn the door handle. And, yup, that's always wet too.
Showing posts with label toilets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label toilets. Show all posts
02 February 2008
20 September 2006
Well, my last 2 posts have been about toilets. I might as well continue vaguely along the theme...
Actually, I should probably elaborate on my last post. This time, fortunately, the thousands of people in Trafalgar Sqaure were spared the sight of me weeing when the disabled toilet lock failed. Instead, I had the pleasure of opening the door on someone else. My manners are far better than the Brixton Academy employee who flung the door open on me, and I slammed the door shut immediately. In fact, after I'd done what I needed to and tried to leave, I couldn't get the disabled toilet door open. Some event planner had the bright idea of sticking the disabled portaloo with an outward opening door right in the middle of Trafalgar Sqaure. In the middle of a crowd of thousands.
Anyway...
My BettyCat has been ill recently. The poor little thing has had a poorly bladder. And what do cats do when they're not feeling too good in that area? Yup. Stop using their litter tray and just go wherever they happen to be.
My current disorganisation is all the cat's fault. I had to throw my To Do List whiteboard in the bin after she weed up it. "The dog ate my homework" may not wash as an excuse, but "the cat peed on my to do list" is entirely valid reasoning for not having accomplished all that I should.
By far the most frustrating of her makeshift litter spots was the curtain by the back door. Because it meant I had to take it down to wash it. And I'm 4'10". In a way I was glad the vet kept Betty in overnight that night, because her pointing and laughing at me (don't think she wouldn't...) while I struggled to extract the curtain rail from the (fortunately very low) ceiling would've been more than I could bear.
And don't ask why I didn't just take the curtain off the rail rather than taking the whole rail down. I was poor when I moved in here (nothing's changed in the last 18 months), and I found a curtain rail in Ikea costing the grand sum of £1. Cheapness comes at a price, and, in this case, the price is a design making it impossible to take the curtain off the rail without taking the rail down.
Prescription painkillers and a step designed to facilitate small children's access to a grown up toilet made it possible to eventually get the curtain down. But, of course, gravity was working in my favour too. Trying to get the curtain back up? Yup, gravity becomes more of a foe than a friend.
So, the curtain is still draped over the kitchen radiator, where it was spread to dry. Fortunately the glass on the window in the door is frosted, so passers by can't see me running around in my pyjamas (OK, like I can run, but, you know what I mean), but, the frosting doesn't stop the street lights from flooding my room with brightness throughout the night.
I find myself remembering a line from a Barenaked Ladies song... "who needs sleep?" and blogging at 3:15 in the morning.
As for the cat? The vet gave her anti-inflammatory drops, and she's peed nowhere but her litter tray since she got home. And annoyingly the little ball of trouble can sleep anywhere, anytime.
Actually, I should probably elaborate on my last post. This time, fortunately, the thousands of people in Trafalgar Sqaure were spared the sight of me weeing when the disabled toilet lock failed. Instead, I had the pleasure of opening the door on someone else. My manners are far better than the Brixton Academy employee who flung the door open on me, and I slammed the door shut immediately. In fact, after I'd done what I needed to and tried to leave, I couldn't get the disabled toilet door open. Some event planner had the bright idea of sticking the disabled portaloo with an outward opening door right in the middle of Trafalgar Sqaure. In the middle of a crowd of thousands.
Anyway...
My BettyCat has been ill recently. The poor little thing has had a poorly bladder. And what do cats do when they're not feeling too good in that area? Yup. Stop using their litter tray and just go wherever they happen to be.
My current disorganisation is all the cat's fault. I had to throw my To Do List whiteboard in the bin after she weed up it. "The dog ate my homework" may not wash as an excuse, but "the cat peed on my to do list" is entirely valid reasoning for not having accomplished all that I should.
By far the most frustrating of her makeshift litter spots was the curtain by the back door. Because it meant I had to take it down to wash it. And I'm 4'10". In a way I was glad the vet kept Betty in overnight that night, because her pointing and laughing at me (don't think she wouldn't...) while I struggled to extract the curtain rail from the (fortunately very low) ceiling would've been more than I could bear.
And don't ask why I didn't just take the curtain off the rail rather than taking the whole rail down. I was poor when I moved in here (nothing's changed in the last 18 months), and I found a curtain rail in Ikea costing the grand sum of £1. Cheapness comes at a price, and, in this case, the price is a design making it impossible to take the curtain off the rail without taking the rail down.
Prescription painkillers and a step designed to facilitate small children's access to a grown up toilet made it possible to eventually get the curtain down. But, of course, gravity was working in my favour too. Trying to get the curtain back up? Yup, gravity becomes more of a foe than a friend.
So, the curtain is still draped over the kitchen radiator, where it was spread to dry. Fortunately the glass on the window in the door is frosted, so passers by can't see me running around in my pyjamas (OK, like I can run, but, you know what I mean), but, the frosting doesn't stop the street lights from flooding my room with brightness throughout the night.
I find myself remembering a line from a Barenaked Ladies song... "who needs sleep?" and blogging at 3:15 in the morning.
As for the cat? The vet gave her anti-inflammatory drops, and she's peed nowhere but her litter tray since she got home. And annoyingly the little ball of trouble can sleep anywhere, anytime.
16 September 2006
What is it with Scissor Sisters concerts and disabled toilet doors that won't lock?
Edited to add: This was what happened last time...
Edited to add: This was what happened last time...
06 September 2006
I've just finally gotten around to watching F*** Off I'm Fat.
Very near the start of the documentary, there's some footage of Ricky Grover doing some stand-up, and joking about being fat. I gigged with him once a while ago, and some skinny student started heckling him, and then disappeared for a piss.
So, Ricky got down off the stage, walked over to this kid's seat, and took the coat off the back of it. One of the issues explored in the documentary is how hard it is to buy clothes if you're fat. Needless to say, Ricky expected the coat to not fit, and look comical.
The kid came back in the room, and Ricky put on the coat. It fitted perfectly. Nothing could've been funnier as no-one in the room saw that coming.
The thing I found most interesting about the documentary was the parallels you can draw between fighting for fat rights, and fighting for disability rights. For instance, an issue that came up was the problem that restaurants try to cram as many seats into as small a space as possible. Which of course leaves little room for anyone oversized, whether that is because they are fat, or because they have a set of wheels that makes them take up more space than the interior designers ideal diner.
In fact, as an example of a restaurant that doesn't cater for fat people, they showed a shot of the Chinese/Thai/Vegetarian restaurant on Golders Green Road. A restaurant which I've felt slightly confused by in the past. This place has a really evil step to get in, another step down to the toilets, yet, once you've tackled those 2 steps, there's an "accessible" toilet. Someone didn't quite think that one through, did they?
Design issues were the focus of the documentary, and Ricky's appeal for inclusive design is something that most crips would be familiar with.
As part of the documentary, Ricky launched the UK's first "big loo." It featured a toilet tested to take the weight of someone up to a ton, and had a much larger than average seat, which everyone who used (even the skinnies) commented was far more comfortable than your bog standard (pardon the punning) loo seat.
Ricky appealed for more "big loos" around the UK, and summed up that segment of the show with the following quote:
Slight flaw in that argument: Ricky had designed the "big loo" with 2 steps to get in, and a further step to mount the throne.
I'm feeling segregated by the "big loo" already...
Very near the start of the documentary, there's some footage of Ricky Grover doing some stand-up, and joking about being fat. I gigged with him once a while ago, and some skinny student started heckling him, and then disappeared for a piss.
So, Ricky got down off the stage, walked over to this kid's seat, and took the coat off the back of it. One of the issues explored in the documentary is how hard it is to buy clothes if you're fat. Needless to say, Ricky expected the coat to not fit, and look comical.
The kid came back in the room, and Ricky put on the coat. It fitted perfectly. Nothing could've been funnier as no-one in the room saw that coming.
The thing I found most interesting about the documentary was the parallels you can draw between fighting for fat rights, and fighting for disability rights. For instance, an issue that came up was the problem that restaurants try to cram as many seats into as small a space as possible. Which of course leaves little room for anyone oversized, whether that is because they are fat, or because they have a set of wheels that makes them take up more space than the interior designers ideal diner.
In fact, as an example of a restaurant that doesn't cater for fat people, they showed a shot of the Chinese/Thai/Vegetarian restaurant on Golders Green Road. A restaurant which I've felt slightly confused by in the past. This place has a really evil step to get in, another step down to the toilets, yet, once you've tackled those 2 steps, there's an "accessible" toilet. Someone didn't quite think that one through, did they?
Design issues were the focus of the documentary, and Ricky's appeal for inclusive design is something that most crips would be familiar with.
As part of the documentary, Ricky launched the UK's first "big loo." It featured a toilet tested to take the weight of someone up to a ton, and had a much larger than average seat, which everyone who used (even the skinnies) commented was far more comfortable than your bog standard (pardon the punning) loo seat.
Ricky appealed for more "big loos" around the UK, and summed up that segment of the show with the following quote:
Instead of segregating fat people, and having one big loo for them; why not make them all big loos, then you segregate no-one.
Slight flaw in that argument: Ricky had designed the "big loo" with 2 steps to get in, and a further step to mount the throne.
I'm feeling segregated by the "big loo" already...
28 May 2006
Last Saturday I gigged in a venue that is currently undergoing refurbishment.
It was interesting. The compere offered a prize to any audience member that could find a health and safety violation that the venue wasn't at the time in breach of.
Performing underneath exposed wires is a bit of incentive to do well. If they hate you, they could just throw water at you and watch you sizzle.
Anyway, possibly the most distressing part of the evening was going to the toilet. They'd removed the ladies toilet doors. (Don't bother asking why I didn't use the crip bog - it was a comedy venue. Don't be as daft as to think there might be one).
To offer some privacy for the ladies peeing, they'd provided curtains. Except, they were so short that if you were seated on the throne, they covered your face - and nothing else.
This made for an interesting alternate game of "Guess Who?" during the intervals...
"Are they bald?"
"No."
"Do they have short hair?"
"Yes."
"Are they blonde?"
"No."
"Any piercings?"
"Yes."
"I think it's Gilly."
In the 2nd interval an audience member informed me that the toilets were full of women with their Sun-In dying their minges "because, well, you've got to with those curtains."
It was interesting. The compere offered a prize to any audience member that could find a health and safety violation that the venue wasn't at the time in breach of.
Performing underneath exposed wires is a bit of incentive to do well. If they hate you, they could just throw water at you and watch you sizzle.
Anyway, possibly the most distressing part of the evening was going to the toilet. They'd removed the ladies toilet doors. (Don't bother asking why I didn't use the crip bog - it was a comedy venue. Don't be as daft as to think there might be one).
To offer some privacy for the ladies peeing, they'd provided curtains. Except, they were so short that if you were seated on the throne, they covered your face - and nothing else.
This made for an interesting alternate game of "Guess Who?" during the intervals...
"Are they bald?"
"No."
"Do they have short hair?"
"Yes."
"Are they blonde?"
"No."
"Any piercings?"
"Yes."
"I think it's Gilly."
In the 2nd interval an audience member informed me that the toilets were full of women with their Sun-In dying their minges "because, well, you've got to with those curtains."
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