THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION AND THE CONDITION OF YOUR LOCAL PUBLIC RESTROOM


Tne number one fear in America is not death, taxes, or a Constitutional Amendment allowing the Crawford chimp another term. And all that nonsense about speaking in front of a group, hey, toss that one out the window. The number one fear in America is, and rightfully so, doing a “Number 2” in a public restroom. Face it guys, our "hover" muscles have atrophied.

Long before this revelation struck me, and when Lost was just a Little Lost, we embarked upon the hostage taking that was the Family cross-country vacation. The ordeal will forever live in notoriety – and not merely because Tricky Dick resigned the day it began. Litlle Lost learned two very important reasons that day: first, he learned that you should NEVER eat at Stuckeys (the many highway signs touting their existence are the first clue); and, (2) that if you violate rule (1), your father’s obsession with Lysol is not a bad thing. Stopping as we did at a gas station that was right out of “Mad Max” and staffed by walk-ons from “Deliverance,” little Lost answered the hysterical call just outside of Amarilla, but did so armed with the ubiquitous can of Lysol. When all was, ahem, said and done, and Lost was staggering back to the car, the attendant – possibly an uncle to James Carville, - asked if we “wouldn’t mahnd takin’ that cayhn into the Ladies room and sprayin’ it around. “

Nowadays, it has become nearly impossible to walk through a Men’s public restroom without waders. Chalk it up to bad aim, smaller sinks, or a generalized I-already-gave-a-S**t-what-more-do-you-want?” attitude, Men’s restrooms have started to resemble a watery (at least I hope its mostly water) Apocalypse. The sink counters are flooded, the paper baskets are overflowing and spilled over, and don’t get me started on those stall toilets. An old friend of Lost has suggested that some of it may be found in cultural differences. I’m more cynical than that. I think people – Males especially – have started defining “freedom” in a most bizarre way. Just as, for Ali McGraw thirty years ago Love meant never having to say you’re sorry, for the current generation of men “Freedom” has become so bastardized that it includes the right to porcine evacuation and who gives a rat’s crank about who has to clean it up at six bucks an hour? And no, it doesn’t matter if you’re at a stadium, a nice movie theatre, the local performing arts center, a Navy ship, a courthouse, or even a hospital. Sloppy is as sloppy does.

Work on your aim, my brothers. If you don’t, we are truly doomed