No, seriously.
I was perplexed a couple years ago when a sign suddenly went up in the building where I used to tan, which basically said that they knew who peed in the trashcan and that if it happened again, they'd be publicly shamed.
Wait... peed in the trashcan?
Ok well, I thought, I'd had a potty emergency a time or two whilst laying nekkid in the tanning bed. I forced myself to hold it until I was at least mostly dressed and made it to the bathroom, but I guess someone just wasn't so lucky.
... but when I entered one of the tanning rooms at the gym this morning, I encountered this little gem plastered on the wall:
Turns out, my awesome friend Tiff is the one who designed and posted this sign, because apparently peeing in tanning room trashcans has become a thing, and Dr Seuss is a delightful angle to approach and educate about just about everything.
So to the trashcan potty bandit(s?) out there, I implore you - WHY?
There are bathrooms literally 10 feet from the tanning rooms, with a big wall between the gym part and the bathroom/changing room/tanning room areas. You could probably streak there and no one would notice.
Even if they did, I imagine that embarrassment is far less than the mortification of getting caught peeing in a trashcan and being dubbed "the trashcan tinkler." Or something like that.
Also, what self-monitoring behavior logic are you running in your brain, considering that the trashcans in these tanning rooms look quite a bit like this:
How in the - so you mean to tell me, if you can figure out a way to mount this thing to pee, or - I really don't want to take the time to sit here and contemplate all the different ways one would attempt to pee into one of these, or how much trial-and-error went into finding the exact way to do it - you can't take two minutes to throw on some clothes and make a mad dash to a toilet?
Kind of makes you not want to enter a tanning room without a Hazmat suit, doesn't it?
To touch on a hypothesis that poor Tiff suggested, here's a Public Service Announcement for any trashcan-tinklers who might be reading this:
No, the trashcan is NOT a "magical portal, where little fairies catch your tinkle in crystal tea cups and fly it away to a magical land." (I'm still giggling over this imagery, by the way). It is a trashcan, reserved for paper towels used to clean the tanning bed, possibly a tissue or an empty tanning oil bottle, but little else.
I can see where you might be confused by the term, "waste receptacle," but your personal bodily functions are not the "waste" that term is referring to. You urine just sits in there, soaking into every available paper towel and waiting to unleash it's fury on the next unsuspecting person who has the misfortune of finding it (sorry Tiff) in the form of chemical warfare. Not cool, trashcan tinkler, not cool.
Just as an afterthought, if I ever step out of my shoes or the tanning bed and find my foot even slightly moist, it won't matter if it's cleaning solution that dripped from the bottle or a bead of sweat that happened to fall from someone's brow - I will find you. I will find you, and I will smack you unmercifully with a rolled up newspaper until you jump every time you hear paper wrinkle and go running every time you hear an electric can opener.
I was perplexed a couple years ago when a sign suddenly went up in the building where I used to tan, which basically said that they knew who peed in the trashcan and that if it happened again, they'd be publicly shamed.
Wait... peed in the trashcan?
Ok well, I thought, I'd had a potty emergency a time or two whilst laying nekkid in the tanning bed. I forced myself to hold it until I was at least mostly dressed and made it to the bathroom, but I guess someone just wasn't so lucky.
... but when I entered one of the tanning rooms at the gym this morning, I encountered this little gem plastered on the wall:
I do not like it, pee in a can.
Turns out, my awesome friend Tiff is the one who designed and posted this sign, because apparently peeing in tanning room trashcans has become a thing, and Dr Seuss is a delightful angle to approach and educate about just about everything.
So to the trashcan potty bandit(s?) out there, I implore you - WHY?
There are bathrooms literally 10 feet from the tanning rooms, with a big wall between the gym part and the bathroom/changing room/tanning room areas. You could probably streak there and no one would notice.
Even if they did, I imagine that embarrassment is far less than the mortification of getting caught peeing in a trashcan and being dubbed "the trashcan tinkler." Or something like that.
Also, what self-monitoring behavior logic are you running in your brain, considering that the trashcans in these tanning rooms look quite a bit like this:
Not shown actual size.
How in the - so you mean to tell me, if you can figure out a way to mount this thing to pee, or - I really don't want to take the time to sit here and contemplate all the different ways one would attempt to pee into one of these, or how much trial-and-error went into finding the exact way to do it - you can't take two minutes to throw on some clothes and make a mad dash to a toilet?
Kind of makes you not want to enter a tanning room without a Hazmat suit, doesn't it?
Me? Oh, uh... I'm just going tanning. Be back in 30.
To touch on a hypothesis that poor Tiff suggested, here's a Public Service Announcement for any trashcan-tinklers who might be reading this:
No, the trashcan is NOT a "magical portal, where little fairies catch your tinkle in crystal tea cups and fly it away to a magical land." (I'm still giggling over this imagery, by the way). It is a trashcan, reserved for paper towels used to clean the tanning bed, possibly a tissue or an empty tanning oil bottle, but little else.
I can see where you might be confused by the term, "waste receptacle," but your personal bodily functions are not the "waste" that term is referring to. You urine just sits in there, soaking into every available paper towel and waiting to unleash it's fury on the next unsuspecting person who has the misfortune of finding it (sorry Tiff) in the form of chemical warfare. Not cool, trashcan tinkler, not cool.
Just as an afterthought, if I ever step out of my shoes or the tanning bed and find my foot even slightly moist, it won't matter if it's cleaning solution that dripped from the bottle or a bead of sweat that happened to fall from someone's brow - I will find you. I will find you, and I will smack you unmercifully with a rolled up newspaper until you jump every time you hear paper wrinkle and go running every time you hear an electric can opener.
Bad trashcan tinkler, bad. You do that in the bathroom.
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