Then, there’s the Safety Flush.  Seems that this little courtesy has dual meaning and purpose.

If you’re already sitting, and not because you downed a 24 ounce bottle of water, there’s the other reason.  You perform the illustrious Safety Flush after sitting down, and only if there’s someone within sensory range.  The Safety Flush creates enough noise to deter anyone from hearing you drop something.  Be sure to hold that lever down continuously, for an added measure of courtesy. No hear, no see, no smell. No problem!

I never knew…

The Safety Flush is also useful in situations which might be embarrassing.   You don’t want to leave the bowl with presents for the next pair of eyeballs that look into the bowl.  After all, who doesn’t check first, to make sure the coast is clear?  Just to be courteous, you flush first.  If the flush succeeds without your addition, then it’s a successful Safety Flush.  You’re good to go.

Another quaint courtesy offered by most public establishments,  is the ass gasket, I mean  –  seat gasket.  Seat gaskets are nothing more than tissue paper between a butt and a seat with a hole in it.  I think someone invented these to appease us, lull us into a false sense of security. “Oh great, seat gaskets.  Nothing makes me feel more germ free than seat gaskets.”  Geez…

Highly ineffective waste of trees

If seat gaskets protected us from invisible catchy crap, then we’d be covered in gaskets, on our hands, faces, or any other exposed area.  Rather, to be truly courteous,  each should own a personal seat gasket, made of  X-Ray vest lead. The vests must work, as the technicians always run out of the room, leaving you and vest behind.  A better alternative may be proper electromagnetic seats, complete with hover gaskets. Yeah. Hover gaskets. That’s the ticket!

Unfortunately, unless you’re starting off with a Safety Flush, anyone in there knows if you use a seat gasket or not.  I’m puzzled as to why the thinnest paper on earth makes more noise than a two year old who wants something and isn’t getting it fast enough.  And you better use one, whether they’re effective or not, or I’m going to be studying you out of the corner of my eye when I get out of there.  I’m hurrying, too, because I want to know where you’re sitting or if you’re headed for the doorknob. At the very least, I’m going to see your shoes.  I know who you are.

It’s the ultimate in real courtesy to wash your hands for ten seconds with soap after “going.”  I’m listening.  If you don’t wash, and rush out of there, two things are going to happen.  I’m getting up, no matter what, grabbing a paper towel and chasin’ your ass to find out just who you are, Miss NOMANNERSORCOURTESY or Little Miss I’MTOOLAZY. I’ll get my big, yellow sticky note pad out and write your name on it, as above, and secretly give it to you with  a courtesy pat on the back as I bump in to you.


Be glad I don’t write “OLD MRS. IDIDN’TWASHMYHANDSAFTERIDIDMYBUSINESS.”  I’m trying to be a little courteous and save Old Mrs. Yuck some real embarrassment. “Hello, everyone, may I have your attention please?  I just want to let you know that this person right here did NOT wash her hands after using the toilet in more ways than one.”  Relentless.

I don’t find one seat gasket enough, though.  It’s a guarantee that at least one will slide right into the bowl even before I get my zipper down. There’s no good way to use them and most of them end up in the bowl before I even have a shot at them. In fact, TP pulled out in long, ribbon like sections, neatly and carefully placed on the seat, works better.  This leaves me with having to pull out at least one seat gasket for courtesy sake and plenty of TP for my sake.

Stay tuned for Quaint Courtesies for the Questionably Polite – Part III

rules to live by