Mr. TP

Adventures in public toilets

I desperately needed to drop one, to do a number 2, to take a dump, in the worst way I’d ever experienced. There was only one choice in the middle of Washington Square Park in the summer of 1978, the public men’s toilets on the south side of the park. At that time the men’s toilets in Washington Square were about as disgusting a facility as one could imagine, not to mention a haven for drug addicts and assorted criminals. In fact, most of New York City was little more than a haven for miscreants. It was dirty, dangerous and unsavory, but I called it home. So I stepped into the bathroom and found the usual assortment of characters, the half naked guy bathing in the sink, the guy lurking at the urinals waiting for someone to pull up next to him. The toilets were in the back. At that time there were still stalls, miraculously some of them even had the doors attached, so there was a promise of privacy while I did my business. The disappointing discovery though was, no seats on the toilets and no toilet paper. Feeling not only defeated but growing discomfort in my bowels, I started making my exit to seek out another public bathroom, somewhere. Just as I was nearing the door, a spritely little man appeared in front of me and asked; “what’s the matter, no toilet paper?” “that’s right” I said. At that my new friend, I’ll call him Mr. TP going forward, reached into the massive rucksack on his back – this was also unusual in that it was at least ten years before backpacks became ubiquitous and everyone, including grandmas and fashion models were sporting them all around town - and he pulled out a roll of toilet paper. He unfurled a big wad of it and handed to me with a caution; “you know those toilets don’t have seats, so you really have to hover over the porcelain, don’t sit on it, you can catch something!” So I accepted the TP from Mr. TP and the unsolicited advice with little suspicion and proceeded back to the toilet area. I dropped my trousers and attempted to hover over the toilet, as Mr. TP had instructed. I was simply unable to let go however while maintaining this position and resigned myself to sitting directly on the porcelain of the toilet. Just as I did though I heard; “no, no, I told you not to sit down!” coming from the vicinity of my left foot. Looking down I see Mr. TP’s head looking back up at me from under the side wall of the stall, I was freaked out and started shouting at Mr. TP, “get the fuck out of here!” and kicking at the encroaching head. Of course, with that Mr. TP withdrew and I was able to complete my task, at least well enough that I was no longer suffering terrible abominable cramps and I’d be able to make it home without an unfortunate accident. When I left the stall, Mr. TP was nowhere to be seen and I suspected, with relief that I’d never see the weird little man again. Nowadays I don’t go anywhere without a pocket full of tissues.