So there I am. Me and a colleague, standing at the bathroom sink. I was hoping to duck into a stall undetected (so I can take my time and not be embarrassed) but he spotted me on the way in so I make small talk and pretend to keep scrubbing the back of my hand like it really dirty. I can definitely fake wash hands longer than anyone. The bathroom will be mine soon enough.
Down from the sink and opposite the seemingly endless row of urinals is a half dozen regular stalls, with one handicapped stall in the very corner. I head towards it, planning to occupy maybe 2nd or 3rd from the end and knowing damn well that I’d rather be able to keep my feet on the ground than have to sit up on the gigantic toilets designed for basketball players and people in wheelchairs.
The regular stalls are simple, elegant, efficient – like a back country tent. Using the over sized stall makes me feel like I’m stuck in a prison cell, or in the 4th world of Mario 3 or in that crappy movie with Jennifer Lopez.
I’m pretty anxious by this point. I haven’t had to fake hand wash that good for a while. I speed walk down the row and duck into a stall. Like I was taught as a child my eyes immediately check for left overs and seat splash. The seat is down and clean the toilet is filled with sparkling clear water. almost too clear. But its early in the morning, so I’m probably the first person to use it today.
I’m feeling good about this so I decide go bareback on the seat. I fake right and I do my standard 180 into the stall (rotating my body to the left). I close the latch. Belt off, unbutton, unzipper, drop trow. My legs are bent at 110 at the knees, I’m an inch from touchdown – and then I freeze. There’s a pair of shoes beside me. How did I miss this? All my training… I’m supposed to be the best at bathroom etiquette…
Time for a split second decision. It’s all instinct. I double check the shoes. They say you can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. His shoes are nice black loafers. Real leather. Nicely polished. Not too shiny, well worn but good quality. His shoes are saying that this guy either knows people, or acts like he knows people. Either way, I know people too and I don’t want people who know people to know that I just tried to do my business next to this guy.
So I take a deep breath and I pull everything back up. I abort the touchdown. I reach for the toilet paper. I purposely scramble a up bunch. I sniffle a little bit. I think I can play it off like I really needed to blow my nose, and just accidentally happened to be adjusting my pants and dropped them in the process.
I exit the stall, defeated.
I stand outside the washroom. Surrounded by people, but alone inside. I reflect on what just happened and it hits me: this guy had no “cover cough”, no “warning sniffle”, no “throat clear, coast isn’t”. He hasn’t given one little bo peep since I walked in and started my hand washing. Its like he had been silent because he wanted someone to come and shit beside him.
I won’t stand for this so I go back in. I whistle a tune and limp a bit, just so he can’t recognize me. I look around but the bathroom looks empty. I scan the line of stalls and all the doors are slightly opened. No feet to be seen…
FLUSH!
Wtf? A phantom? I dive into the first stall (the one nearest the sinks). I’ve barely got my door closed as I hear him walk by. I definitely don’t want to get spotted at this point. What if this guy goes ape shit because I know he was doing his business without closing his stall door?
I feel like Froto in LOTR when he’s trying not to be spotted. I hop up onto the seat but Its loose, and my knee almost drops in. My cell phones hanging half way out of my pocket at this point. (so this is how people drop them in the toilet). I barely get my balance when door closes behind him.
Finally I am alone. I do my business Mission compete. Life isn’t about the finish line, it’s about the journey. This was quite the journey.
theartofpooping 