So... I'm at home depot, on the way in I stop at the inhouse restraunt for coffee and fries, ( poultine). The store is so huge by the time I get to the back I need the mens room. Well... The toilet has the high water preasure low water volume flush to save water and the sensor for the auto flush feature insures that the left overs are not waiting for the next client. Great it is clean and avaible.

The problem starts when you lean foreward to reach for the toilet paper and the sensor activates the high preasure flush. So now when i reach again for the paper to dry my but it goes off again, again.....again..
I tried to sneak off ... flush again.


For the love of god who dreamed this one up. Next time I am going to use one of the display models in the plumbing section.

 

For that reason, I am not find of auto hand sinks.

I get two seconds to wash off my hands, the water shuts off. Repeat several times.

I think that wastes more water than one quick uninterrupted shot of water.

 

I like to get some electrical tape and put it over the photo-eye... Especially the ones that don't have the little flush button.

 

I've thought the same thing.

 

I hear ya!!! I use to work at Lowes and you always had to keep an eye on little kids who would attempt to use the display model toilets!!! I found several kids lifting the lid up trying to take a pee.

 

Intersting topic. What do they call it...a sticky?

 

I hate those spring-timed sinks... where you push the **** and it stays on for like 5 seconds... it's soooo hard to wash my hands in 5 seconds.

 

Post-it-notes work well for those stoopid things... It took me 17 flushes and 26 yards of TP at one particular rest stop somewhere on the Mass Pike a few years back.

If you don't happen to have any post-its with you in the men's room, take a piece of the one-ply, double it up, give it a little loogie action, and stick it above the sensor. Please be sure to remove it for the next patron though...

-Joe

 

I think you are missing the point of this toilet.

Its actually a combination toilet/bidet.

 

Well... I'm back at home depot this afternoon. I stop at the Harvie's grill adjacent to the front doors and have two double angus burgers, large fries and gravy and the jumbo cup of coffee. By the time I get to the back of the store...... I need the mens room. Rembering the other day when I used the facilities. The unwanted butt wash with the cold water



So I find a nice toilet with the swing down armrests, I think it was actually designed for the handy capped as the sign said they were assistance handles. Good thing for the handles, as it was a blast using this demo model. Any how I leave happy and with a dry butt. As I'm exiting the store I hear broadcast over the speakers, " clean-up in plumbing ...isle # 22, bring the sani-flush."

 

I'm sure this is a repost, but it still makes me laugh...hopefully it makes your morning as well...

"All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the
process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
following it with six cups of coffee at work , and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way backto the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:

0.Occupied.

1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

2.Poo on seat.

3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and
sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Sh***er. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds
of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone
conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of
Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Sh***er was blathering to Mrs. Sh***er about the sh***y day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer
cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand
against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded
with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone
ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not
unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency
of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way underthe stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had
ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear
that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear
that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and
blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in
me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later,
in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now,
all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made
themselves heard over my **** symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..."
followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at
the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding
down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear
words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

continued

 

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I
could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final ****
announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily
into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a
fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him
running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew
that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that
unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.
Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom
with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the
bathroom."

 

^

Yea, I've never really liked automatic toilets. Always going off before you want them to. I really think they waste more water that way.

 

That was f'ing hilarious! I will never talk on the phone on the pooper again!

 

Just do like I do, don't wash your hands