tantastik dot org

The Guy That Sits in the Bathroom at a Club

I’m not even sure I need to justify this, and in fact, this or being a lumberjack, was a tough call. This may be even worse than a pepper spray tester.

I’ve often wondered how these guys can do it: standing in the washroom for 8 hours, handing out towels to D-bags and hoping to get a loonie in return. I was at Mod Club on Saturday, and I happened to be in the bathroom long enough to hear the kind of things he had to put up with. Not just the smell of urine, combined with booze and an array of bad to worse colognes, but to listen to big, white boys –most likely frat brothers– ask him the same questions over and over, on separate visits.

Sometimes its an immigrant named Pedro, other times its an old white guy in a tuxedo, probably looking to supplant his pension income. On this night, it was a young, black guy with the look of pure torture in his eyes. He didn’t even bother handing out towels or offer gum. He just sat on his stool, decaying from the acidic fumes in the washroom.

As I was standing in line waiting to pee, I witnessed two different meatheads come in after another and ask the poor guy, “Oh man, you must hear the craziest stories, eh! What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” As if they were old friends. Maybe because he was black they thought it’d be cool to befriend him and hence be cool by association.

And just as I was leaving the washroom, I heard a third meathead burst into the washroom, yelling, screaming, singing and then striking up the exact same conversation with him as the previous two guys. I would not have blamed him, if he just lost it right there. “That’s it!” he’d yell. “Fuck this job!” And then maybe, spray a bottle of cologne right into their eyes and dunk their heads into the toilet. I could imagine that is what I’d do. But I wouldn’t have the same problems as he does. No one wants to befriend an Asian guy wearing an argyle sweater vest.

Maybe instead of community service, they should put criminals into these washrooms and make them work for free. Maybe instead of jail time, they were required to endure a few nights of this mental punishment; breathing in the urinal cake aroma and mopping up projectile vomit.

I hate having to tip those guys, seeing as I’m tipping the bartendars a buck a drink, but in some situations, I feel so bad for the guy, I just drop a fiver and then pee with an eased conscience the rest of the night.

Axe released a new scent called “Dark Temptation”. Yes, I was a bit surprised too. Somehow, they managed to capture the scent of Denzel Washington into a spray can. I suppose there is nothing more masculine than smelling like darkness.

My only gripe is that they did not even consider me; certainly not for lack of musk, but more because they couldn’t use an appropriate name that was marketable. How could “Jaundice Flava” ever compete with “Dark Temptation”? And they must have already discounted “Yellow Fever” or “Banana Boy” for the running.

I sometimes wonder what my scent might actually be compared to. Does it truly harbour that lingering smell of a bustling fish market as many have already kindly pointed out?

Ironically, with the amount of butter chicken I eat, I would undoubtedly smell a lot more like curry. Or at least, bay leaves.

Apparently, Vancouver has decided to name one of their 3 mascots after me. Flattering, however it turned out to the be hairest one of all, Quatchi! Big, furry and adorable, Quatchi embodies the fun-loving nature in us all. I took their “Which mascot are you most like?” quiz, and sure enough, I am Quatchi.