Early on in this period of social distancing, a couple of my co-workers solicited quarantinesex stories from Jezebel readers who opted to go against CDC regulations to get down. Now that some areas have opened up, even those that have returned to stricter guidelines, I have to wonder… a lot of sex must be happening outside, right? Especially that of the one-night stand variety? And if that’s the case… there must be some weird run-ins with other pedestrians who are just trying to go for a walk and get out of their goddamn apartments for 20 minutes. So, now that you’re thinking about fucking a hottie in a park this weekend, allow me to pose this question: have you done the deed outside before? Did it go horribly wrong? Please, drop those public sex disaster stories in the comments below.
But first, let’s take a look at last week’s winners. These are the worst things you’ve seen in a public restroom.
Finally my moment in the sun! Let me set the stage: I was a bit of a princess back in the day: had never used a squat potty, peed in the woods, etc. My husband and I went to Myanmar for vacation and spent some time in Mrauk-O, which is like Bagan but in the Rakhine province (yes, of concentration camp fame) so no tourists. It had just opened to western tourists and, in retrospect, the government was controlling access to reaching it to prevent westerners from seeing evidence of genocide. I’m sure you’re wondering why this relates to public restrooms. The only way you could travel between Sittwe, the provincial capital which we now refer to as Shitwe for reasons that will soon become obvious, and Mrauk-O was by public boat. On the return journey, we opted for the speed boat style ferry, which held about 300 people packed like sardines for 3 hours. The boat had 2 “bathrooms” for 300 people. Very quickly into this 3 hour tour my husband and I realized we had contracted cholera in Mrauk-O… cholera, while rare for us westerners, is very obvious and different than just gastroenteritis or food poisoning, and much worse- I felt like I was dying for 2 solid weeks afterwards but local medical care in Myanmar at the time was not recommended by the US embassy so we just dealt with it and luckily didn’t die. My husband and I occupied those restrooms for almost the entire boat ride; at one point I was in such dire straights I was like Black Friday in a Walmart, barreling through the crowd like an Alabama quarterback, inadvertently touching several monks, which is extremely verboten in Buddhism
I just want to clarify that despite the general shoddiness of any and all infrastructure in Myanmar, especially outside of the usual tourist circuit, these restrooms were ok when we arrived on the boat. We caused the carnage the others had to endure for the very brief moments we weren’t holding court on the squatty potty throne, including my husband’s underwear, which somehow (he still won’t admit what happened) ended up on the ceiling. There also obviously (because Asia) was no toilet paper, only a bucket of brownish water, which might have been how the cholera happened in the first place while we were in Mrauk-O
I also want to clarify that I have no issues peeing in the woods now
tonight, living in a fantasy, I wish I could un-read this:
Not my story but a property inspector friend’s, also not a public restroom so it doesn’t really fit the rules. But it’s so gross it must be shared.
He was inspecting one house, and it was immediately apparent that it was a hoarding situation. Piles of garbage and filth everywhere. Animal feces and rotting food. He’s about to check out the bathroom, and the guy that lived in this mess said slowly, “I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.” But he had to, so he goes in the bathroom and faces a horrific scene. This guy’s toilet had stopped working at some point, but he kept using it! Shit was piled up in a mountain that went a foot up out of the toilet, and fell all around the toilet to the floor. He would just hover over shit mountain, and add to it. The health department made them tear the house down.
When I tell people this story, they tell me that hazmat should have cleaned the mess. I had no idea at the time, I just felt it was my responsibility to clean it up. In this time of COVID, DO NOT go touching any poop surfaces especially. Here goes:
I worked at a movie theater for three years, so I’d seen my share of vomit and shit be everywhere. It was my last night working at the theater and I was making my rounds, checking on theaters and bathrooms. I reach the hallway near the family restroom and the most awful smell hits me like a wall. I call a co-worker over so I can have a witness, since the new manager wasn’t paying attention (part of the reason I was leaving, I was a supervisor).
We open the door just enough to see shit smeared on the sink, the mirror, and the baby changing station. It was a nightmare. Like I had done many times before, I assumed responsibility and had my co-workers handle the front while I got to work. The smell was so apparent it would be putting people off their food and movies. I gathered everything I could from the cleaning closet and went in.
The family room was a sarcophagus with a big heavy door and I sealed myself in there for nearly two hours, occasionally coming out into the hallway to breathe. Once inside, the disaster increased ten-fold.
There was shit all over the sink and mirror. There was shit “dotted” on specific corners of the room. There was some shit in the toilet, but it would seem our artist was inspired to shit right next to the toilet and use that pile of shit as their palette. Shit smeared on and in the baby changing station. But the piece de resistance was the words “I AM GAY” written, in shit, on the back of the door.
I don’t think this person had a plan, I don’t think this person was gay. I only think that they got off on the idea of someone like me discovering their handiwork and the horror it would induce.
After I emerged from cleaning, slightly deranged at this point, I found out our new manager was being an ass to the people holding down the front so I quit several hours early.
