Indiana Bureaucrat and the Urinal of Doom

It sits on the third floor of Los Angeles City Hall, just beyond the prow of a ship emblem in the center of the polished floor. The bas relief cutter points to a nearby restroom, perhaps a symbol of the smooth-sailing goodness of a recently emptied bladder. This restroom seems normal enough: it has a wood door, the familiar male-sign triangle, and even the usual sharp tang of urine.

But this normalcy belies the true mystery found inside its cramped walls, for this room is haunted.

Several years ago, a normally unflappable colleague of mine sought relief in this most intimate of rooms. As the door creaked closed, he walked around the corner, following the nature call to the trio of urinals at the back corner.

This room also features five stalls, and inside one of these stalls was an average-looking man, if a tad short. The man had left the stall door open, and was contentedly peeing, seemingly oblivious to any other occupants.

His hair was red and spiked, and the clothes he wore seemed from another era, like the 80s. Presuming the man had simply lost his way from Silver Lake, my friend went about his business, washed his hands, and left.

After exiting, my friend remembered he had forgotten his keys on the bathroom sink, and reentered the room to retrieve them. The room is fairly small, 15 feet by 8 feet at most, and he fully expected to see the redheaded man again.

But he was gone. Vanished.

My friend refuses to use this particular restroom, positing that there is no need to visit the single haunted restroom in City Hall. There are at least a hundred other restrooms here at 200 N. Spring St., he claims, where the biggest danger one faces is a lack of sanitary seat covers (i.e. ass-gaskets or cowboy hats).

But I disagree. For the past six months, I have oft traveled the 22 floors between my office home and the Urinal of Doom, hoping to see this strange undead creature. My luck has not yet held out, but I am hopeful. Who was this man? Why wouldn’t he haunt the mayor’s private washroom, only yards from this smelly, public convenience?

More bulletins as events warrant.