I got a new job working the door at a local club. I won't say which club because it's really messy in there and a health inspector could be reading this. I'll just say it's more of a venue than a bar, gets loud and sweaty on the weekends, and has some of the fastest bartenders in the west. If you order a Kamikaze there, the barkeep is done making it by the time you finish saying the word "Kamikaze."
Anyway, the other night I was working a show with a large amount of youngsters there – kids just barely 21. I now hate everyone who is 21 – they are so stupid. I won't get into all the stupidness I had to deal with because it will upset me too much, and I don't write so swell when I'm upset. But as far as drinking goes, it was total amateur night at the bar.
That night the crowd swirled together to form an idiot-storm of epic proportions. Not a cloud in the dry summer sky, but it was raining cats and morons inside the bar. One such moron was a young lady, just days past her twenty-first.
I was notified by some girls that this cute, young thing was in the girls' room puking the shit out of herself ... into the sink. Because of my penis, I couldn't just march into the girls' room and drag the dumb, human barf volcano out by the hair, although that was my first inclination.
Apparently this chick was so retarded she didn't even know how to puke. What kind of girl doesn't know how to puke? I thought all girls knew how to puke. But she let her own vomit trickle down the front of her shirt in such careless fashion.
I asked an off-duty employee if he could kick her out of the bar for me because I was trapped at the door sifting through IDs and letting morons in and out of the club. However, the barfy girl wouldn't listen to the offduty employee because he lacked the authority that drunks acknowledge when one is wearing a nametag. Since I was wearing a nametag, we traded positions and I went and gave Li'l Miss Puke-cakes the most I'mdisappointed- in-you father-face ever and pointed at the door. The front of her shirt was all wet from mopping her own barf off her chest and then her dumbass friend tried to tell me that she didn't throw up, that she just spilled beer on herself.
When we got to the front door, her boyfriend was waiting for her, about to come into the show. She told him that she had just gotten kicked out for spilling beer on herself and then she planted this huge French kiss on the guy. It was so gross and so funny at the same time – I hope he's reading this right now.
But the whole incident upset me quite a bit. Reason being, it's my job to clean the little girls' room at the end of the night, and it's probably the grossest thing I've ever done for money. I don't get paid extra for unclogging a puke-filled sink, so you can see why I'm upset.
I've worked in other bars before. I've seen other girls' rooms at 2:30 A.M. after people have been partying, so I'm no stranger to puke. But I have never seen a girls' bathroom quite like this one. A disturbing vortex of tampons, toilet paper and graffiti that comes together at the end of the night, creating a grossness I didn't know existed beyond the confines of a bathroom stall.
Each night the mess is a different mystery and now I feel obligated to solve it. I can't be in the women's room during business hours, nor would I want to. But how the hell does a tampon tornado get in there every night?
I've decided that the only way I can figure out the mystery of this girls' room is to study the graffiti on the walls, so I photographed a bunch of it for research purposes. Much like the great archeologist Indiana Jones deciphers the mysteries of ancient times through old writings on walls, I am going to study and interpret this graffiti to figure out how the girls' room gets so messy and how I can prevent it.
First off, I used to believe that girls would always go to the bathroom in pairs so that they could gossip about boys or share makeup and cocaine with each other. Now I know that they go to the bathroom in pairs for backup purposes or so that one can destroy the bathroom while the other girl actually uses it.
The first picture I took is writing, done in red lipstick, that says, "Dave Combs is one sexy motherfucker!!" Wrong on both accounts. Dave is neither sexy nor has he ever fucked his mom. Dave is an asshole and proud of it. And when we first showed Dave the statement, he went on a 15-minute rant about how passive-aggressive the statement was. Dave's smart, so I think he's right. This is just a petty attempt by some bar slut to get free drinks.
I also found some graffiti that says, "805 fuck faces." I don't know what that means. Maybe 805 is a crazy girl gang or something.
One of my personal favorite pieces of graffiti in the girls room is in pink marker on top of a toilet paper dispenser saying, "Rabid Bloody Kunt!" Photos: Mike Brown (35) SLUG Again, I don't know if that's like, some crazy girl gang, but I think it would make an awesome girl band name.
Does anyone know what B.I.A. stands for? There's some graffiti that says, "Keep yo head up...much love, true thugs for life. B.I.A." with heart-shaped dots instead of periods. This seems a bit too fluffy and sentimental for some true thug shit – entertaining nonetheless.
There is a lot of graffiti in there with the word "Ogden" in it. I like the city of Ogden a lot, but I find this really funny. I know that sometimes gangsters use graffiti to mark their territory, but our bathroom is in Salt Lake. So maybe the bathroom is getting messed up by Ogden chicks who have a vendetta against our toilets for some reason. Like they think Ogden shitters are better than ours?
Probably my favorite piece in the ladies' room is a weird octopus-looking drawing with the words, "Hump it!" written above one of the tentacles. I like this picture because I think it would be really funny if one day a girl humped an octopus. Or if an octopus humped eight girls – it could happen.
Then, in crappy scribbling, we have, "I love Collin W.!" and under it, it's signed, "Heart/the J's" but like a heart shape, not the actual word, "heart." So in case you didn't know, Collin W., the J's love you. I don't really see a point in professing your love in a spot where the target of your affection isn't legally allowed to go. But I guess I don't think the same way the J's do. Or maybe Collin W. is a girl.
Right next to Collin W., some girl writes that she thinks David Law is a god. I don't know who David Law is, but congratulations. You've made the bathroom stall.
I also like the shit talking sequences that go on via bathroom graffiti. I wish the ladies would save this shit for Myspace, but no. A funny one is, "Do you fall in love often?" in white marker, to which a girl writing in green marker replied, "Nope, I'm to smart bitch!" – classic – to which there is a reply to the reply: "its 'TOO ' Romance queen!" with an arrow pointing to the grammatical error. There are even copy-editor girl graffiti artists, who woulda thought?
"I am in love with my lesbian sister," is good food for thought while using the rest room. Replied to with, "I am in love with you." Why does love have to be so complicated?
However, not all the petty vandalism is chicks marking their territories. One girl is merely asking for some advice: "I LOVE my BF, but I haven't been single for 7 years...I'm 21. Break up? I want to be single but I want him later." No one has replied to her yet, so I will. You can't have your cake and eat it too, young lady. Barf in the sink and then make out with him – that oughta do the trick.
"I'd fuck life if it had a vagina!" I'll end the article with that one.