Bite Ass, Mr. Nightclub Bathroom Attendant

The BBQ Pit
1

Hey you. Yeah, you, sitting on the stool next to the sink in the bathroom of this overpriced nightclub.

Fuck you.

Can I not even step up to the sink after taking a piss and wash my own hands like a big boy? I promise I know how. Not only did my mommy teach me how to wash up when I was three, I got a great refresher course on the finer points of hand washing when I got my food handler’s permit to work at the Arby’s in tenth grade. I know the routine, I promise: hot water, lots of soap, 30 seconds of vigorous scrubbing, then dry with a clean paper towel. I don’t need you to squirt the soap into my hand, and I definitely don’t need you to hand me paper towels - with your own filthy hands - out of the dispenser that is easily within my reach, but which I would have to reach across you to get at.

No, I don’t want any Polo. No, I don’t want any Drakkar. No, I don’t want any Calvin Klein. Ditto the Christian Dior, the Cool Water, the Hugo Boss, the…you know what, just stop. Stop gesturing at the collection of cologne bottles on the washroom counter like some brain-damaged mime. My personal smell is a consciously-constructed amalgam of products chosen by me in advance of coming here tonight: my soap, my shampoo, my laundry detergent and fabric softener, my deodorant, and (if I so choose) my cologne. Why would I want to overwhelm that with a couple liberal squirts of…is that Brut 33? Eww. Fuck you.

And now you glance, subtly yet plaintively, at that basket of damp, crumpled one dollar bills on the counter. EAT SHIT. Is it not enough that I paid $12 to get in here (for a friend’s going away party), and am sipping $8 martinis (because there’s no way I’m paying $4 for a bottle of goddamn Coors Light), but this stupid club figured the best way to squeeze a few more dollars out of me would be to throw a hobo into a tux, park him in the john and have him stand guard over the soap and paper towels, doling them out only for ransom?

There’s actually one thing you could be doing that I’d gladly pay you a buck for, each and every time: opening this door for me so that I don’t have to touch it after all the filthy bastards who walked out without washing their hands because they didn’t want to pay you for soap. But no, it’s more profitable, and easier, to treat the sink as your own private toll booth.

sigh

Here’s a buck. :mad:

2

Ugh. I hate these guys too. Especially when they try to brush off your shoulders with a wisk broom WHILE YOU’RE STANDING AT THE URINALS.

:mad: :mad: :mad:

3

Dude, it could be worse. You could BE a bathroom attendant. I think that’s a weird practice too and I never feel comfortable with them either but it’s really the places who hire them that you should have an issue with, not the poor schlub handing out paper towels.

by the way, i’m sure those guys would assist you with your doorknob phobia if you just asked. There are medications which can help you with that as well.

4

Yeah, I probably could have asked him to open the door for me. Point taken.

But I stand firmly by the “phobia,” as you call it. It isn’t a phobia of all doorknobs, only doorknobs that I just saw three guys in a row use right after taking a piss or a dump - without washing their hands in between. :mad:

5

I’ve never even been in a place with a bathroom attendant. I didn’t know they still existed. Most places I go to, I pay 0$ to get in, and if the beer’s four dollars, it had better have crossed a body of water to get here. And D.C. is not a cheap town.

I guess the guy’s supposed to signify that you’re at a “classy” joint, thus justifying the outrageous drink markup. I can see why it would be annoying.

6

Good rant. I’ve only experienced this once or twice in NYC, but I felt the same way.

7

Add me to the list of guys uncomfortable by it. I never know what to do and feel badly for the guys who end up working it. And I never know how or when to tip but I feel like I should because the job sucks.

I can’t imagine anything worse than spending a Saturday night in a bathroom of a packed club soaked in the smells of urine and vomit.

8

Holy fuck. This is a sure sign of the Apocalypse-I’m agreeing with Dio. :eek:

Really-would you like to spend your eight hour shift repeating yourself with even fewer options than the local burger flipper? Or go home, smelling of drunken guys farts and stale cologne? So, you meet a cute girl and she asks what you do for a living. Uhm, I brush off guys shoulders while they take a piss, and I hand them towels after they’re done pissing, and stuff like that. Christ, that makes mopping out peep show booths sound like upstanding employ.

9

Could be worse, I visited a men’s room in East Germany (when there was such a country) and the Men’s room attendant was a 60 year old woman. And you had to pay her a mark just to get in. After that, she pretty much left you alone, though.

10

C’mon, the guy is already a men’s bathroom attendant. He’s pretty much at the bottom of the food chain where jobs are concerned. I mean, I’d rank a variety of forms of unemployment as much better than being a men’s bathroom attendant. In fact, the only form of unemployment I’d rank below it would be unemployed and homeless.

11

The clubs like having someone in there, it cuts down on fights and messes. I remember talking to one guy who said that he actually paid some kind of rent to the club to sit in the bathroom and peddle his wares. But in my experience the attendant is unlikely to be an official employee of the club.

It’s pretty easy to politely decline these guys, they see it all the time. You’re not expected to tip them just for them handing you a towel, that’s why they have all that extra stuff- for the value add. And depending on the insecurity of the clientele and the strength of their rap, they can do pretty good.

If an attendant gets one or two drunk bigshots a night they can ignore the mass of nice guys who don’t need mints. The attendants who are rude or domineering don’t last long- there is always someone else who will step into the breach.

12

Replace “men’s bathroom attendant” with “telemarketer” and watch the sympathy for the poor schlub doing the job completely dematerialize.

13

At least they do something, however half-arsedly and badly.

Now, in Asia, on the other hand…

Go to a restaurant or bar - and not an upmarket one either, just a regular one. Go to the toilet (really just a latrine with one cold running water tap if you’re lucky). So far, so good - the toilet is a rough concrete outhouse with nothing but a hole in the ground and a tap, but you’re in the wilds of Vietnam/Thailand/China etc, so you’re cool with that… until… your eyes adjust to the change in light out of the busy bar you’ve just left, and you find there is a grumpy, wizened old lady sitting on a stool by the door to the toilet, and yelling at you for not paying her like some troll bridge toll collector. Does she clean the toilet? No - it’s covered in skidmarks, some of which seem years old. Does she provide soap? Nope. Toilet paper? That’s BYO, sorry. But she takes your money. Not very bloody much, admittedly, but it’s still extortionate even if it is only 20c. I’m NOT paying 20c to walk past a half asleep person on a stool.

This is not some arrogant Westerner’s rant, BTW. I understand the economic realities in these places, but at least pretend to do something for the money.

14

It really is scraping the bottom of the employment barrel. These folks are more hated than the IRS man. When I was young and unfamiliar with the practice, I used stuff and didn’t tip. Boy oh boy…if looks could kill…

15

I don’t go back to places that have these guys.

If I’m in one, it means that somehow, someone coerced me into a “club” and not a “bar”. It hasn’t happened in several years, though.

16

I don’t even go anywhere that has bouncers, let alone bathroom attendants. The only thing worse than being turned away from a place because I’m not young, stylish, and good looking enough, would be being let in.

Just give me a place with cold beer and a pool table.

17

See, I’m the same as you guys; I’m much more about dartboards than dance floors. I just want a place that isn’t too smoky and has a good selection of beers on tap. I got dragged to this place, which is one of Houston’s hot weekend dance clubs.

And to several other responders: I gave the guy his buck. Three times, in fact. I even smiled. And then I came here to vent. Time-honored Pit tradition. :mad:

18

Most of the places I go have guys who check ID’s and deal with troublemakers. But I’d never go to a place that let people in on any basis other than first come first served.

19

I actually kind of liked the service the one time I had it. I think the key is to not pay the cover, and have someone else buy your drinks, and come prepared for a wallop to the wallet that never materializes. Of course, a place like that should have fresh cloth towels and the soap container should be sitting in 98º water, and no whisking by the urinal, please.

Which reminds me, OneCentStamp, you shouldn’t say “bite ass” to anyone who is standing behind while you’re urinating.

20

How many bathroom attendants have ever interrupted you and dragged you into a bathroom when you were busy doing something unrelated to them?

Please show some respect for bathroom attendants. They are light years higher on the food chain than telemarketers.