2003-03-18 � The Ladies Room Feud

I missed the rampage again. My apologies to the rampagers. I'm doomed.

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As you may or may not have heard, there is to be a war. I'm not making this up. There are many reputable sources so reporting.

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The women's bathroom on this floor has become an issue. I have no direct experience with the women's bathroom, but the stories I hear are becoming the stuff of legend.

The players:

Sanzari - The building super.
Ellen - Judge Selma's secretary and take no prisoners tough gal
The Princess - My co-clerk whose adventures are chronicled elsewhere
The Filthy Skank - The pincher of loaves whose true identity remains a mystery
Ilene - The chamber's sentinel

The history:

The fifth floor of my building has been home to a collection of appellate level state judges since the building's construction more than sixteen years ago. Shortly after the judges arrived, two small sized law firms rented the other two suites on the floor.

There is a healthy relationship between the three offices. Fruit baskets and cookie platters are exchanged at the holiday season. The permanent staves of the offices participate in Super Bowl pools together and organize discounted bus trips to Atlantic City. Trips on the elevators feature generally pleasant chatter or amenable smiles.

There is nothing overt to indicate that there is any animosity brewing beneath the surface, but as is so often the case, appearances are deceiving.

For the past nine years The Filthy Skank has been using the fifth floor bathroom's second stall for her daily constitutional, which includes a flushable seat cover, and has never once flushed it down. Some days she goes twice. There is speculation that coffee is involved. When I first arrived, I thought it odd to hear the women on this floor speak of the other women using terms like dirty and feculent. Ordinarily, its men who are festooned with these kinds of descriptions.

The Princess is planning a wedding and has myriad other personal matters to attend to. The first month or so of our clerkships she attended to these matters over the office phone. This ended when she was presented with a bill for personal calls made from her phone. Since then she has made good use of her cell phone for these calls and has delighted in the mobility her cell provides her. No longer is she forced to remain within earshot of Judge Selma while booking a florist or arguing with her fianc�. No longer must she worry about disturbing the judge with lengthy anxious discussions of her consistently failing health. No longer does she subject the judge to the heated whispers involved in compelling her fianc� to fire a member of the bridal party for slighting her. Now, these discussions can take place in the library, in the kitchen, and The Princess' favorite spot, the ladies room. The cell phone is truly a revolution.

The last straw:

"This has to stop!" Ellen slammed her book down on her desk in disgust. "The pig refuses to flush her goddamn turds. What does she think we all want to look at her turds? I don't want to look at her turds. It's like she's proud of them! Oh look it's another one of my goddamn turds! This one is museum quality, just look at the constitution! I don't want to look at her goddamn turds anyore!"

"Who are you talking about?" I asked.

"This has been going on for nine years, Brian. Nine. I don't know who or I'd fucking punch her lights out. But someone on this floor is a filthy skank who takes a dump every day and won't flush her turds. Just leaves them there for all to see, like they're works of art or something."

"That's disgusting," I sympathized.

"Yeah," added the Princess. "And that's not all they do. Sometimes when they have their periods they leave blood all over the seat."

There was a moment where Ellen's fury was transferred from the Filthy Skank to the Princess and I thought they were going to have a throw down. But I watched Ellen count to ten in her head before saying, "I've never seen that and I've worked here for sixteen years."

"Oh," said the Princess.

"You know, I just can't stand this anymore. I'm going to do something about it right now." Ellen sat at her computer and created a quick word document. She found some clip art of a cat and a circle with a line through it, which she cleverly combined to create a graphic that effectively communicated "no cat." She chose a frame for the document which was graphic and strong. Then in large, bold, easily readable letters she typed

"NO PUSSIES ALLOWED! THIS ISN'T YOUR LITTER BOX SO FLUSH YOUR GODDAMN TURDS!"

I called it a masterwork. The Princess was dispatched with three copies and a roll of tape to post them in the ladies room.

Within an hour Ilene could see Sanzari knocking on the ladies room door. When he finally made his way in, he emerged with the signs which he tore up and pitched in the waste can.

The next morning, the Princess came bursting into the chambers with three pieces of paper she removed from the very spots she'd hung Ellen's signs the day before. There was a cell phone in one of those circles with a line through it and text that read, "DON'T BE RUDE TO US OR THE PERSON ON THE OTHER LINE. NO CELL PHONES IN THE SHITTER!"

"Can you even believe this?" the Princess demanded. "I mean, I cannot even believe this. There is no law against talking on the phone in the bathroom! I mean, it's not rude to talk in the bathroom or something! I mean, I think this is totally like about me or something! Doesn't it look like this is about me? I mean, at least I flush and I don't leave blood on the seats, you know what I mean?"

Ellen, who has little if any patience for the Princess, was instantly on her side anyway. What is it they say about the enemy of your enemy? "You know what happened? I bet that goddamn filthy skank saw you hang those signs and now she's responded. This is an outrage!"

"OOOOHHHH!" squealed the Princess. "I bet your right! And I noticed that the second stall was not flushed! It was unflushed, Ellen!"

Ellen's nostrils flared and she parked herself at her desk to generate a response. She chose the same graphic border and this time she found a doctor with a surgical mask and a reflector on his forehead. The accompanying text read, "YOU NEED PSYCHOLOGICAL HELP. NO ONE HERE WANTS TO ADMIRE YOUR SHIT SO SEE A SHRINK, YOU FILTHY SKANK. -MANAGEMENT"

Ellen printed off fifty copies of the new and improved sign and took off for the ladies room. The Princess bit her nails a bit and looked nervous. Ellen returned wordlessly and started her day.

Within twenty minutes Ilene spotted Sanzari removing the new and improved signs.

The epilogue:

This morning Sanzari paid a visit to my judge. When he left, she called the Princess into her office. She told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to hang signs in the bathroom and that wallpapering the second stall with demands that someone else get psychiatric help was not funny. The Princess tried to protest, tried to point her finger at the culprit, but the judge would hear none of it.

"Princess, this is about listening for a change," the judge scolded. "Do not embarrass these chambers."

Later this afternoon when the Princess was at lunch, Ellen 'fessed up. "I knew it was you from the moment Sanzari showed me the note," said the judge.

"Well, you scloded the Princess pretty good."

"Yeah, she gets on my nerves," said the judge.

The Princess doubled her bathroom phone time this afternoon.

I will keep you abreast of developments.

Posted at 5:29 p.m.

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