The scariest thing I’ve ever seen in a restroom was a USAF police dog’s head coming under the door to my stall,:eek: while I had a film canister of…um…film!, yeah, film, in my pants pocket. I had already dropped the pipe in the toilet, only place available and it might have worked if I had to flush it.
I said “Hi!”
The LE type said (to the dog) “Hey, get out of there, there might be someone in there!” 
In Spain, this December, when I stepped into the toilet.
I didn’t want to describe it in detail then, but Hell, I will now. It was a small room, consisting of a few notable features:
A sink.
A curious lack of any toilet tissue at all.
A 3 foot by 3 foot square sunken depression, about 6 inches deep, which sloped gently towards a 6 inch diameter round hole. There were two raised spots about 6 inches high, about 1.5 feet apart, that were evidently footrests.
A small, incredibly filthy, jug of “water” with a damp, heavily used washrag draped over it’s handle.
It seems that the purpose of this was to be a rather large human litterbox, sans litter. It also seemed that most of the locals showed disdain for the litterbox, and like naughty kitty cats had pretty well marked their territory on the floors, walls, sinks, ceiling, and door.
The stench was inhuman, as many had “missed” the hole, their…uh…remnants piled about it and buzzing with insects. I fled, and held it until the hotel. Dinner was very difficult to finish, and discretely under the table I spent several minutes washing my hands with 3 alcohol pads from my insulin kit (there was no way I was going to use that sink!).
The Time: Middle of the week, about 8 years ago. August
The Place: Middle of Nowheresville, between Carlsbad, New Mexico and Albuquerque
The Situation: I was on the last leg of a business trip. I was returning from Carlsbad and, like the utter fool that I was in my wasted youth, had decided not to defer gratification and stopped at a mom-n-pop Mexican food stand on the outskirts of Roswell. The food was tasty. But there was a surprise in store for me…
So it’s about two hours later. My lower intestine is dancing the wild fandango as I try to drive with my legs crossed trying to contain the beast within my bowels. There’s just too much traffic to take a dump alongside the road.
Suddenly, a sign: Rest Stop, Next Exit. I begin to speed. Tires squealing, I pull up to the Rest Stop, tear out of the car and make a mad sprint for the restroom. And, about 8 feet away from the door, slam to a halt as I hit a solid wall of stench. I examine the smell. It’s so strong that it not only has odor and flavor, it has it’s own texture. I look. There is a line of dead flies, apparently killed by the smell at about a six foot radius. An invisible electric fence of stench.
Nonetheless, I persevere. Holding my nose (Literally) I push open the door. Apparently the septic tank has backed up and there’s about 1/4th inch deep ooze of excrement and urine and God knows what else. All of which has been melting in a windowless shack in the hot, August New Mexico sun. I back away.
“Fine.” I think. “The rest stop will shelter me from the road. I’ll go behind it.” I run back to my car to get toilet paper (I always carried a spare roll, just in case.) It was missing. I search for something. A magazine. A newspaper. All I can find is a book, The Wheel of Time.
“I can’t destroy a book” thinks Fenris’s Superego
"You wanna drive another 150 miles in squishy underwear?" replies Fenris’s ID
“But it’s a BOOK! You can’t destroy a book!” wails Superego
"It’s by Robert Jordan. You hate it. There are billions of copies of it in existence. Besides it’s nine thousand pages long. You won’t miss two or three of 'em" argues ID with relentless logic.
My stomach punctuates the discussion with a loud, disturbing rumble. It’s sick of philosophy. It gives me a 10 second warning. I grab the book and run.
As I drive back to Albuquerque, I feel shame and guilt mixed a resolution: I’ll never be toilet-paperless again.
Fenris
Due to various regulations, the women in the Navy’s Electronics Technician school (including myself) were forced to move from nice, cushy quarters into a barracks that had been vacated by the Gunnery School. Now, the Gunnery School students were by and large male. (This is important.)
We got into the barracks to start cleaning it. What a sty. We went into the bathrooms (sorry, heads) and found substances that could either give us some horrible disease, or make us pregnant (or both; who knew?). The toilets were crusted with God knows what, and the showers were abominable.
We found half-used cans of Copenhagen in the lockers in the rooms. We found centerfolds featuring women with vaginas so large we thought we’d fall in if we stepped on them.
At least it was close to the chow hall, which is another story entirely.
Robin
Man, I thought I had a good story at first, but it looks like you guys have me totally beat.
I was at a local air show many years ago with my older brother. This was when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. I needed to go to the bathroom. My brother says, “Heheheh. Look in that bathroom. There’s a big turd on the floor.” I remember it because it was the first time I ever heard the word “turd.” I really needed to go, so I went in that bathroom, just after seeing some guy walk out of it. I step inside, and on the floor, there was a squished brown mass, with shoeprint grooves on it. I shudder to think about what happened to the unlucky person who stepped in it.
I have had several bad experiences.
First of all, any public convenience I have been in around where I live stinks. Most are damp on the floor. Several are hardly let at all, stalls with doors hanging off, no paper, graffiti everywhere. Nasty places.
The ones at Uni weren’t as bad, but some of them had “eye holes” as mentioned about and they had loads of stuff written all over them. Lots of smut and phone numbers and stuff.
The final experience was when I worked in a bar for three years. I was the poor guy who had to go and un-block the toilets when they got clogger. Luckily I had some heavy duty gloves. I have to say, the women’s toilets were the worst and got blocked more. They were always full of tissue and tampons and stuff. The most amamzing thing was the people would still use them. I mean, I know there is a queue, and people really need to go, but that is nasty.
TTFN
Rick
WHAT? I’m curious as hell now…
The term is “Glory-Hole”. One person sticks his penis through the hole, the other…services the first.
There’s apparently some sort of ritual involved (one person taps his foot and other clears his throat. The first murmers “The Goat Felches at Midnight”…or something like that) but I’ve never gotten the details.
Fenris
WHAT? I’m curious as hell now…
**
[/QUOTE]
Uhh, Guinastasia, those holes are called “glory holes” (or at least, they were called “glory holes” whilst I attended Western Illinois University in the late 80’s). See, what happens is WARNING: IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH TURN AWAY NOW Gay Man #1 puts his rectum up against the hole. Gay Man #2, on the other side, pushes his penish through the hole and into Gay Man #1’s rectum. They have anonymous gay sex through these holes, see. Yup, that’s what they’re there for.
Now ya know.
…And of course Fenris beats me to it…
:eek:
LMAO…oh good gravy! My god, when you think about the fact that the door was wood-SPLINTERS!!!
Ha!
Hehe…a small hole is probably mostly used for watching. Actual glory-holes are usually at least four inches in diameter.
Just so no one gets the wrong idea, this is not an activity that most or even a large majority of gay men get involved with. It’s a minority of the minority, in a manner of speaking, but having spent time at a large university, I have to say that some of these locations do a volume of business that Yahoo! and eBay would both envy.
Fenris, I have seldom laughed so hard as when I read your post, with its “conversation” between your Id and Superego! My gut started to ache as I couldn’t stop laughing and giggling for near to five minutes. Guess I’m easily amused. I’m gonna pass this thread on to a friend I think would be entertained by it.
Brings back to mind one of my favorite passages, many dopers should rememeber it
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
[Obligatory BS guy comment]
Wait a sec…if it’s only four inches in diameter, how do you get your dick through? Mine certainly wouldn’t fit!
[/Obligatory BS guy comment]
Fenris
<obligatory slam on sexual equipment size >
It’ll fit if Fenris sticks it in sideways 
</slam>
OK! OK! I specificially did not mention gloryholes (yes, I do know what the term means; yes, that was my first thought when I saw the hole) because
I’m not sure this is the appropriate forum, but…which would be more disgusting, jayjay: watching somebody take a dump; or sticking your vitals through a hole hoping that some anonymous person on the other side will gratify you, and hoping said person will not decide to cause you lasting genital damage. I ask you.
Sheesh. Only on the Board would people hijack a thread in such a disgusting way. You guys are the greatest.
What would be scarier is if the entire toiletful was the product of just one person’s bowels.
After reading these posts, I’ve come to the conclusion that a bathroom can only get so disgusting before any additional grossness really doesn’t add anything further. I mean, once the excreta leave the confines of the toilet bowl in any significant quantity, you’ve pretty much crossed the line into unusability.
As for my own worst experience, that would have to be halftime during Monday Night Football at the old Cleveland Stadium. First the “trough” toilets would fill, then the bowls would fill, then the sinks would fill, and at that point, your only option was to get inside the door and pee on the floor. You could tell who had been to the game by smelling their shoes the next day.
You could tell who had been to the game by smelling their shoes the next day.
And WHAT were you doing sniffing other people’s shoes?!?!?!???
Embarrassed? Nah. My stomach is turning, though.