Crack attack

In general, it has been my potty blogger philosophy to cover only those events that actually occur in the building mentioned in the blog’s name.

But this weekend, I endured a potty experience away from 1160 Battery that must be discussed.

It WAS a work-related incident and so I feel completely comfortable talking about it here. Well...as comfortable as one CAN be when talking about a toilet-induced ass injury.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

On Saturday, I took an extended trip to a large retail establishment for a little client-related recon. Without mentioning names, suffice it to say that I needed to spend several hours at a store learning more about a particular line of products.

And is wont to happen over the course of a couple of hours, my body gave me the high sign that it was time to conduct some business.

I asked the (incredibly friendly!) staff about the location of the men’s room and he pointed me to the back corner of the store.

When I entered the men’s room, I was relieved to see that it was a single-room situation where I would have the entire space—toilet, sink, etc.—all at my disposal. This sort of set-up always gives me confidence that no matter what my body throws at me, I have the resources (paper towels, warm water, etc.) to deal with the aftermath.

But a quick look at the commode told me that this was not going to be the stress-free situation I hoped for. Like some sort of chimpanzee owner with half its face mauled off, a good chunk of the lid was missing.

As it was my only option (and the business portion of the meeting seemed to be starting with some urgency) I lifted what was left of the lid and sat down.

Immediately, a pain shot through my right butt cheek.

When you sit down on an unfamiliar toilet and the first sensation is searing pain through your ass, a number of things flash through your brain:

* First, you consider the possibility that the mythical “animal through the sewer pipe” has claimed its first victim.

* Second, you quickly calculate the probability that a small hypodermic needle escaped your attention.

* Third, you wonder if you are the first person to have a micro-seizure localized to your sitty-part.

What you do NOT consider is that a small hairline fracture in the plastic toilet seat has responded to your weight by opening its pinchers and grabbing a chunk of your butt.

With the mirror at my disposal, I was able to stand and inspect the full horror of my injury.

With my emergency kit out of reach in my car, I was forced to improvise. I tore a small piece of paper towel and affixed it to the affected area. In the mirror, it looked as if a 15-year old boy had gotten a little too aggressive with his first shave...if my ass was a 15-year-old boy’s face, that is.

Once my business was completed, I did inform of the store manager of a “situation” with the toilet in the men’s room. I urged him find a quick remedy. I think my tear-stained cheeks (face cheeks, that is) underlined the severity of the situation.

Two days (and a healthy slathering of Neosporin) later, I am on the mend.

But I will be inspecting seats much more closely in the future. I urge you to do the same.

Stay safe out there, people.