Confessions of a Vegas Bathroom Attendant

How many times have you seen a bathroom attendant and skipped washing your hands because you were too damned cheap to tip a buck to get a professional soap pump and a fresh paper towel? It’s worth it, you dirty bastard, especially if you’re headed back out to get friendly with those drunk chicks from Columbus. Or worse, finish your dinner.

Strike up a conversation and you’ll get more than just a clean pair of man mitts, you might get a little insight from a guy who has seen more crazy shit in Vegas, both literally and figuratively, than anyone else in the city.

Most keep quiet about what they experience on the job. Except “Ricardo”. [Not his real name. Or his pic over there on the left.] He’s the “Washroom Specialist” at one of the top-tier ultra lounges in Sin City, in one of the more prestigious casinos. (And it’s going unnamed for the sake of his employment.) I spent some time in his “office” recently, and got an inside look into what he sees and hears nightly while his finger is on the soap trigger.

[A note: Yeah, Ricardo really talks like this. And with a thick New York accent on top of it. Bathroom attendants aren’t the drooling idiots you think they are. And they notice everything. And everyone. Just a head’s up for next time.]

BG: Does people’s hygiene disgust you?

Ricardo: Yup. I mean just wash your hands for god’s sake. I get it, maybe you don’t want to tip for the towel, but wipe it on your jeans, on your date, let ’em air dry, just wash. And to be frank, I don’t care if you don’t tip if all I do is hand you some paper for your hands. Don’t tell my colleagues that, but it’s true. What pisses me off is when some guy in a cheap sport coat comes in, washes his hands, takes a smoke, sprays half a bottle of cologne on himself, grabs a handful of mints and thinks that a smile and a nice conversation makes it worth it to me. I am accountable for everything in here. This is my job. Some guys are chill, but some guys are just pricks about it.

BG: Do you see a lot of drugs?

Ricardo: Nope. Do they happen in here? Absolutely. The smart ones don’t let me see it, because if I do I have to call security right away, who in turn call Metro. But every now and then you get that asshole who thinks, “It’s Vegas, anything goes,” and is doing bumps while looking in the mirror.

Most of the time it’s somebody disappearing into a stall for much longer than it should take to “drop a deuce”. And let’s face it, when you’re stoned, you’re not thinking. One of the things they aren’t thinking about it the fact that every john is motion censored. I hear the toilet flush five times in a row and it’s easy to assume no one is sitting down “taking the Browns to the Super Bowl”. [There’s one that’s definitely getting added to the List of Favorite Euphemisms For Shitting.] A lot of these guys are doing their stuff standing up. Plus we’re in the middle of the desert so it’s tough to catch a cold, and nobody goes clubbing with a sinus infection. I wouldn’t say it happens all the time but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t obvious.

BG: What’s the wildest thing you have ever seen?

Ricardo: Tonight or ever?

BG: You choose.

Ricardo: Um, well it’s hard to say. People can be really dumb. I worked in New York for several years doing the same thing and it was completely different. There is a lot more respect out there. They know that the guy standing at the sink usually has his hands into a lot of different things, not just the toilet. Believe it or not we all know each other, and have great connections. But out here people are so wasted they usually don’t even notice me, which means they act even more retarded. I could write a book on the stupid stuff I have seen in here.

BG: What would be the most recent chapter?

Ricardo: Just last week I had this guy drag some tweaked-up girl in here wanting to take her into a stall. This ain’t too uncommon, but it’s a big no-no from management. The guy was at least smart enough to drop a couple bucks in my basket, so I felt inclined to look the other way.

I just assumed they were partaking in the indulgence of banned substances – and who’s to say they weren’t – but from what it sounded like, it led to a little game of hide-the-salami if you get what I am saying. To be honest I don’t mind it. Makes the night go by quicker. But you have to remember this is a bathroom in a nightclub. Most guys come in here after 12 martinis and have aim about as good as Dick Cheney’s. The floor ain’t ideal to do the nasty dance, especially for two uncoordinated dopers. So, between a few snorts and grunts I hear a SMACK! The nice little church girl lost her footing and did a face plant into the old john. Out cold.

I hear a belt and a zipper, then a flush. It seems the brainiac Romeo was a little smarter than I thought. The only thing worse than getting caught with a knocked out hooker is getting caught with a knocked out hooker and a bag full of Columbian marching powder. So the guy comes out, tent fully pitched mind you, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Dude, can you help?” he says. I had to laugh. I felt bad, but man, this was funny. At this point I know I just have to get her out of the bathroom because I don’t feel like catching any crap for letting a lady into the men’s room. Thankfully there is a couch right outside where guys usually wait when their ladies are freshening up. I figure I can dump her there and pass the buck to security.

As we do the tag-team, arm-over-each-shoulder carry of the bimbo, like she was some kind of wounded soldier, we turn the corner and run into some equally as trampy looking broad. But this one looks pissed. Don’t know if it was Romeo’s wife, girlfriend, or what, but she wasn’t happy. We manage to get the gal with the toilet print on her forehead to the sofa despite Romeo getting caught with a southpaw hook from the other gal. Security was over as soon as they heard the chick screaming about castrating the poor kid. I don’t know much what happened after that ’cause I returned to my post.

Mind you this was a Wednesday. Vegas is stupid like that.

BG: Let’s be honest, you seem like a cool guy, but does being a bathroom attendant make it hard to land a date?

Ricardo: Listen my man, most of the gals in Vegas I wouldn’t touch with your dick. If I wanted to I could grab anyone of these half-passed-out chicks visiting from Wichita who have been sucking on a bottle of Grey Goose all night, and make them believe I was Steve Wynn. But that ain’t my style. And with most of the girls who live here, unless you are paying, or you really are Steve Wynn, or have a bank account to match, they ain’t interested. I have a steady lady who doesn’t have a problem with what I do if that answers your question.

BG: It does. What’s the dumbest thing you have ever been asked?

Ricardo: Besides if being a bathroom attendant makes it hard to get laid? I don’t know actually, that’s a tough question. Guys ask a lot of stupid shit. The most common is if I know where they can find a hooker. People are handing out flyers on the street. If your dumb ass can’t find a hooker in this city you really think I am going to put myself out on a limb to help you? I mean come on. This is Vegas.