I try hard to keep my humor clean. No potty mouth remarks from me. Then along comes the Indy article, “Wish-List Emerges for Beach Restroom Makeover,” and I get the urge to revert to those base jokes for the john. Speaking of which, “Oh hi Kathy Griffin. Not surprised to run into you in here. You’ve landed in the ####-er. You’re looking a bit flushed. Hope you’re staying a-head of the game.”
Going to the bathroom isn’t a joke any more. “Knock. Knock.” “Who’s there?” I ask. “It’s us, the city council. We want to flush $1 million down the drain.” I’m amazed at the amount. “Hold it. All seats are taken. However, for $2 million you can have mine.” The city council refuses to go for it. Instead, they decide to increase the number of potties. “The council will add three potties. Two more potties for men. One more potty for women. Women attendees refuse to stand for it. A woman resident responds, “We need more potties. It’s basic nature. Women always get more than men.”
The council tries to defuse the situation by explaining, “Women had more potties to begin with, five for women, three for men. Women attendees go apoplectic. “That’s too close. My husband doesn’t deserve more potties. He always leaves the seat up.” Another woman chimes in, “She’s right. Her husband does it to me, too. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen into her toilet because that darn seat is left up.” (Oops, a secret revealed.)
Silence ensues. Men stare at their shoes, the ceiling and out the windows looking for a life saving comeback. Finding none, the city council calls for a bathroom break. The women make a mad dash and claim all the city bathrooms, both men and women’s. The men are left doing a little panic dance in place.
A male attendee grasping for something positive to say in a bad situation squeaks out, “I never hit the darn potty any more. My aim is shot. Let them have all the potties they want. Who’s up for christening the Pepper tree for one last time?”
The meeting reconvenes. Men and women look relieved and ready to discuss the next agenda item. A city council rmember asks, “How many showers should we have and where should the showers be located?” Dissension ensues. The women all vie against one another to be chosen as the interior design consultant for the city. But the women do agree that they get all the showers, an equal number of Jacuzzis with massaging jets, an equal number of masseuses and an equal number of California closets. A deaf male attendee who didn’t hear a thing retorts, “I want soap on a rope. I’m old. Safety first.” The council votes 4 to 1 in favor of the women’s demands. The old man is arrested for anti social behavior.
The art commission suggests temporary artwork for the refurbished bathrooms. “We must protect the history of Laguna Beach. There’s treasured artwork now adorning the bathroom walls. We consider it the first attempt at social media.” A few present examples are, “For a good time call Pet Peeves at ###-####.” Then there is, “Here’s a special salute to a city who knows waste when they spend it.” Or “Pee off tourists. Go at home.”
Lastly, the art commission assures the city council that all misspellings will be corrected. “Wear’s my soab on a robe?” is given as an example that will assuredly be corrected.
Crantz tells the Indy he likes to go at home. He hasn’t gotten over a bad towel snapping experience in junior high.