The Non-Negotiable, Mandatory G to B Ratio
New kid in the building celebrates landing his dream job – entry level at
one of the big music publishers – by inviting his new BFFs to party in his
loft.
One bathroom. One hundred and sixty guests.
Not that there isn’t a large party or three in my own misspent youth, but the
G to B ratio – Guests to Bathroom ratio – never-ever exceeded forty-five to one.
When I think of the leaning towers of TP stashed in corners, the stocky stacks of
guest towels, the pump bottles of hand soap that were part and parcel of the
strict G to B, I have to wonder: Where is the self-preserving germophobia in our
offspring?
Will we become extinct by the happenstance of a rogue asteroid?
Because of global warming?
Or is it more likely to be at the hand – the germy, dirty hand – of our very
own progeny, that not only didn’t wash after going to the bathroom, but that
didn’t even use the bathroom?
When confronted the next day about his peeps pissing in the stairwell, he
hotly denied that any of his BP buds could ever do such a thing. And he said it
with the same exactitude I had at that age when defending guest behavior – which,
by the way, was never-ever pissing in the stairwell.
Ain’t it sad to not realize when our friends are pissers. Could be rowdy,
loud, fun-loving pissers, but pissers all the same.
And the Perry Mason clincher he rolled out?
“My guests would never unzip on the stairs, every day they talk to people all
over the world.”
WTF is that?
PS: He lost his job shortly after this mini-rave. Couldn’t pay the rent. Got kicked
out of the building. We are so hoping whoever moves in is not a pisser.
Tags: Pissing for prosperity, string-along, bidet for a day, Iris DeMent rave,
cool tools never drool, deign to be profane, A is for alibi, B is for boob,
C is for miraCle any of us made it to adulthood
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