Be it a restaurant, a bar, your home or your place of work, the restroom is a place us men hold close to our hearts, especially if it becomes a frequent haunt. I can still vividly remember the restrooms at my school and most places I have ever worked. I’ve spent a percentage of my life in restrooms. You get to know the place a little, the little imperfections when you sit there figuring life out. Many great ideas were first conceived sitting “on the john”.
I’ve always thought the term restroom is a wonderful word. It conjures up all sorts of lovely images of people being so exhausted at needing to go to the toilet that they need a rest. The expression I’m off for a “rest” never gets old. In Ireland we politely use the term bathroom. But I’ve never seen a bath in a restroom. We also have less romantic terms such as bog, jacks, lav, loo, crapper, shitter or the good old gents or toilet. But a restroom defines a place, be it in a good or a bad way.
The restroom at the Caddyshack was memorable for all the wrong reasons. For a start there was only one, so on a busy day you could get caddies fighting for their place in the queue. The door was often thumped if people seemed to be getting comfortable and taking too much time. Caddies would sometimes get caught short in the queue and would have to scurry to the bushes in the lower carpark. You had to make sure there was toilet-paper in stock before paying it a visit, just in case you got caught short. You also had to do a sweep for creatures and creepy crawlies. There was nothing worse than looking down between your legs and seeing a massive spider creeping up the porcelain towards your nether regions!
The restroom itself wasn’t exactly stable, it was built from a few sheets of plywood, so you knew that there was only ¼” separating you and a bunch of caddies sitting a few feet away. You could often hear the conversations outside while sitting on the throne almost as well as you would without the wall!
And it wasn’t just used for passing bodily materials. It was often used to consume mostly illicit materials out of sight. There was often evidence of wrappers, butts, bottle caps and other more worrying material. Seeing a caddy emerge from the restroom with a vacant smile on their face told you that they were not in there dealing with severe constipation.
I don’t think it was cleaned very often. I imagine Greg had to give it the once over every now and then, but I’m sure that was no more than a quick squirt of bleach and clearing out the trash can. It was often the subject of much conversation among the caddies. Especially if a caddy had an explosive moment leaving a lingering fragrance for other caddies to enjoy afterwards. Some great one liners would follow!
“Dude, you need to clean those guts out”.
“Get some colonic irrigation or something!”
“What the hell did you eat last night?!”
I always laughed at Johnny who would often tell me that only a matter of a few hours later that his breakfast / lunch or dinner had passed right though him. I would have arguments with him that this was a biological impossibility that food would pass through his body that quickly, but he was convinced that was the case. So you get a picture of the types of conversations that would happened on a slow day in the yard.