I walked into the lone men’s room on my floor in the office and all the stalls looked like someone tipped over a port-o-potty at the end of an Ironman about an hour ago. I don’t know how I got that close to the mess without smelling it, but I did. I got back 10 minute ago . . . spotless and pine-sol fresh. Unreal.
These men and women put up with more BS, wait, remove the B cause it’s all S
It’s an entirely thankless job that can be alternately demeaning and disgusting.
We institued a mandatory “If you messed it up, you clean it” policy my freshman year. I’d say it was 80% effective in not making the poor janitor (really nice lady named Susan who always was quick with a pretty smile and kind word) clean up something that was disgusting and not fair.
Ah the memories. Every Friday night the basketball players on our floor would cut each others’ hair and leave it on the floor. The cleaning group didn’t come until Monday. You can imagine what a bunch of black, curly hair looked like on the floor.
At least one stall would be covered in barf. Somehow it would be halfway up the wall as well.
Another group thought it was fun to practice their distance turding. They would throw their legs over the stall walls and try to drop their loafs from 6 feet. I did NOT hang with those guys.
I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to have a room that shared a wall with that place. Mine was far enough down the hall to be mostly safe.