So I think that it’s time I come clean a little and tell you how and why I wrote on that bathroom wall all those years ago and how a single moment in my life helped me through a difficult time, but also started me on creating one of America’s favorite past times – bathroom wall poetry.
The town was Lincoln, Nebraska, I had been struggling for the better part of a year to get Uranus Toilet Paper products into the green and on its way to becoming a real company. I can’t easily explain how I got into the toilet paper business other than by saying I thought that I could make money doing it – and quick – by providing a product that was cheap and easy to produce and one which I could turn around and sell with ease by undercutting the competition. But, it didn’t work out that way, life seldom does. My primary customers were medium to large businesses, or, at least that was the plan of whom I was going to be selling my product to – the big boys. It became apparent rather quickly, however, that places of employment who paid salaries, labor costs, rent, amongst a millions of other bills that came along with owning a business, didn’t want to dish out any money for bathroom products – I guess they figured they provided you with a means to live, they weren’t going to wipe your ass for you too.
The last hope I had to make a buck was a large bank in the Lincoln area, I won’t say which one, and to make a long story short, that prospect fell through. Later that day I found myself in the bathroom struggling in my mind about what to do next; quit and get a real job or push on and fall, more than likely, further into debt. As you can imagine I was depressed and overall, a wreck. I wasn’t suicidal, but it did cross my mind to write my last will and testament on those bathroom walls.
It was than that I heard a singing from the stall next to mine which I didn’t even know was occupied. The bar atone voice that sang very much out of tune and which had a rather crackly edge to it kept repeating the same line over and over: “Just sitting here ass cheeks-a-flexin’. Every once in a while there would be a pause and grunt (amongst other bodily noises) and just as I thought he was going to add another verse onto his little ditty he just repeated the line again. It was then that I pulled out a Sharpie from my pocket and wrote the now famous lines on the bathroom wall – followed by my own personal additions, or course.
When I was finished I walked out of the stall and over to the sink to wash my hands, which was next to the one being used by the would be bathroom poet. He was an overweight cowboy looking type who was wearing cowboy boots and a ten-gallon cowboy hat. I washed my hands and as I walking out the door I turned, smiled and said “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew, and for the first time in, well, possibly ever, I knew everything was going to be alright.
It was because of him that I realized that nothing comes easy, certainly not as easy as that rhyme came to me. I doubled my efforts and completely changed around my work ethic, not to mention my business model. I worked longer hours and twice as hard, I would sell my toilet paper door to door and roll by roll if I had too, but I would make it work.
The town was Lincoln, Nebraska, I had been struggling for the better part of a year to get Uranus Toilet Paper products into the green and on its way to becoming a real company. I can’t easily explain how I got into the toilet paper business other than by saying I thought that I could make money doing it – and quick – by providing a product that was cheap and easy to produce and one which I could turn around and sell with ease by undercutting the competition. But, it didn’t work out that way, life seldom does. My primary customers were medium to large businesses, or, at least that was the plan of whom I was going to be selling my product to – the big boys. It became apparent rather quickly, however, that places of employment who paid salaries, labor costs, rent, amongst a millions of other bills that came along with owning a business, didn’t want to dish out any money for bathroom products – I guess they figured they provided you with a means to live, they weren’t going to wipe your ass for you too.
The last hope I had to make a buck was a large bank in the Lincoln area, I won’t say which one, and to make a long story short, that prospect fell through. Later that day I found myself in the bathroom struggling in my mind about what to do next; quit and get a real job or push on and fall, more than likely, further into debt. As you can imagine I was depressed and overall, a wreck. I wasn’t suicidal, but it did cross my mind to write my last will and testament on those bathroom walls.
It was than that I heard a singing from the stall next to mine which I didn’t even know was occupied. The bar atone voice that sang very much out of tune and which had a rather crackly edge to it kept repeating the same line over and over: “Just sitting here ass cheeks-a-flexin’. Every once in a while there would be a pause and grunt (amongst other bodily noises) and just as I thought he was going to add another verse onto his little ditty he just repeated the line again. It was then that I pulled out a Sharpie from my pocket and wrote the now famous lines on the bathroom wall – followed by my own personal additions, or course.
When I was finished I walked out of the stall and over to the sink to wash my hands, which was next to the one being used by the would be bathroom poet. He was an overweight cowboy looking type who was wearing cowboy boots and a ten-gallon cowboy hat. I washed my hands and as I walking out the door I turned, smiled and said “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew, and for the first time in, well, possibly ever, I knew everything was going to be alright.
It was because of him that I realized that nothing comes easy, certainly not as easy as that rhyme came to me. I doubled my efforts and completely changed around my work ethic, not to mention my business model. I worked longer hours and twice as hard, I would sell my toilet paper door to door and roll by roll if I had too, but I would make it work.
And I did.
I never became rich, but I pulled my small business out of the hole and made a small profit after a while. By the time I sold the business in the late 90’s I was doing pretty well. An early retirement is what I had aimed for and that is exactly what I got.
The moral of the story, if there is one, is that if life hands you toilet paper to wipe with, us it, and if life hands you poison ivy, just remember not to scratch when it starts to itch. I know that might not make a lot of sense to most people, but it makes perfect sense to me, just noodle on it for a bit and it will eventually make sense to you too.
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