A few weeks ago at John Gunstone’s house I experienced what I thought was the worst shower experience ever. Let me explain.
I was at John’s house (with Suzi, Alan and Megan Hatton) and wanted a shower. John kindly complied with my request and told me to go for it. I don’t normally like to have showers at other people’s houses because I’m afraid I might flood it or do something else silly.
To ensure that nothing bad befell me, I made John show me exactly how to work the shower. He sighed and walked upstairs with me. He opened the shower door and pointed to two different knobs. Both were for temperature (wha?). He told me not to touch one of them but to move the other to whatever temperature suited me. He pointed to the towels and left me to get undressed.
I managed to de-robe fairly successfully without any trouble. I put my clothes on a heap in the corner and got into the shower.
I withdrew the shower from it’s holder (on a vertical rail) and held it so that it pointed downwards. I turned the shower on (following John’s instructions perfectly) and found a suitable temperature. I then put the shower head back into it’s plastic armour. I tried to slide the nozzle up the rail to better suit my height. For some reason the nozzle refused to stay up. I analysed the shower head and discovered that it was broken. I began to plan my apology to John. Needless to say the by-product of my strict and rigorous analysis of the shower head’s mechanics was a powerful spray of water entering my eyes.
Without the vertical rail fulfilling its right and proper duty the dousing of my hair became trickier. I held the shower above my head and attempted to direct it at my hair. As many of you will know, my hand-eye coordination is not what it could be, so I received a large mouthful of water. I then left the shower at the bottom of (useless) vertical rail and began to shampoo my hair. The shampoo was mint flavour and was very pleasing to the nose. I then retrieved the shower-head and rinsed my locks. It was here I discovered that the shampoo was less pleasing to the eyes.
You know when you have a mint or something eucalyptus flavoured it sort of tickles your mouth and makes it feel almost… clean?
The feeling is better in your mouth than any other facial feature.
Anyway, by this point I was becoming increasingly wary of my bad luck, so after I put the conditioner in my hair I rinsed it out while squatting at the bottom of the shower (a funny sight, I am sure).
When I was completely clean I turned the shower off, opened the door and reached around for a towel. I did this because I didn’t want to make the floor wet by stepping out onto it.
So, I patiently dried myself in the confines of the shower enclosure and then stepped out onto the floor. The floor which I had taken care not to let any water go onto. The floor which was currently drenched.
It seems that the enclosure is not as waterproof as one would hope and expect from a structure designed solely to be waterproof.
I now noticed the inclination of the floor. I had assumed that the floor would all be on the same level. Alas, it was not. The whole floor slanted into one corner.
The corner where my clothes lay.
I know, you’re thinking “How horrendous for you McAsh! I cannot imagine an experience in the shower more horrific! You write really well!” Well yes, it was horrific, but believe it or not I have another yarn to spin about another shower-related experience which you may find as horrific, or even more horrific! (It’s true!)
Yesterday morning I awoke to a dismal morning at Canterbury University. I wandered into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
Unfortunately, due to spacial problems regarding the packing of my luggage, I had not brought my shampoo nor conditioner with me.
The night before (Sunday, for those who aren’t paying attention) I arrived and noticed a transparent pack on my bed with two small bottles inside. Due to extreme relief and excitement I assumed they would be Shampoo and conditioner respectively, so it was to my dismay and utter disgust, that I discovered that one was shower gel and the other was a shampoo-conditioner combo.
A shampoo-conditioner combo.
You read right.
If someone’s reading this to you, you heard right.
This is quite simply the worst invention since torture. In fact, you may consider it a subset or torture. Or you might consider torture a subset of shampoo-conditioner. Regardless of your beliefs, I am sure you will understand my horror.
Anyway, back to Monday morning. I was in the shower, and I turned it onto temperature 5 (which I had been recommended). The temperature was fine.
I wish the same thing could be said for the pressure.
The spray was like a mist. A mist being fired from a cannon. I’d never heard of or experiences high-velocity mist but now I had. In fact, I have yet to experience this outside of that particular shower. This leads me to believe that it is a freak occurrence, divine intervention perhaps. I’ve never been a believer in any kind of God, maybe this was my punishment.
I should have (choose one: prayed for forgiveness/sacrificed a lamb/smoked some pot and listened to reggae) for things only got worse.
I had been warned that the drain was not very good, so I should turn the shower off while applying shower gel, shampoo or conditioner. I followed this advice and the water had time to drain.
But, and you knew there would be a but, when I turned the Mist-Machine back on the scatty shampoo-conditioner combo in my hair went into the scatty mist in the air, which then successfully went into my eyes.
With my eyes burning I reached my hand out of the shower to find my towel. It was not there. I strained my brain for its whereabouts. I remembered.
I dripped out of the shower and onto the floor. I trickled out of the bathroom onto my carpeted bedroom. I flowed across the room, and poured into my bag where I retrieved my towel.
Showers are shit.
Showers are shit.
Showers are shit.
Who needs hygiene?
