Porcelain Etiquette

I doubt that women can relate to what’s on my mind today. They seem to enjoy relieving themselves in groups, so I’m sure they’re quite alright with “powder room” conversation. But we men don’t talk while in there, and maybe the reason is because the only powder being used in our bathrooms is “gun powder” (if you know what I mean).

“George, why couldn't I use the bathroom in that store?”
“Krama, trust me, this is the best bathroom in midtown!”
“Wha??”
“He knows.”
“…on the left--exquisite marble! High ceilings. An' a flush, like a jet engine!”
“Now, listen: uh… you better not wait. I'll catch you later.”
“You sure?”
“He knows.”

Men go to the restroom for one purpose only, and they need no assistance or coaching on the matter. In-the-bathroom is one of my least favorite places to be, so I wait until the last possible moment before entering, and I stay foras little time as possible. I don’t try to make chit chat and I appreciate it when others do the same. Just like when I’m at City Hall paying a traffic ticket, I don’t want to be there, and I don’t want a conversation to prolong the experience. So, please, let’s neither try to be pleasant. Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible and I’ll be on my way.

“Look, I don’t want any help. I just wanna be left alone.”

This topic comes to mind because in the past week, I’ve had two unwelcomed greetings while in the bathroom. At the office, we work in on a floor with four suites—our company occupies only one—so we share a bathroom with the occupants of the other four suites. Just today, I walked in and both Nick and Sean from work were in there.

“You! I suppose you’re programmed for etiquette and protocol.”
“Protocol? Why, its my primary function, Sir. I am well-versed in all the customs…”
“…Alright, shut up.”

Now, assuming that it is understood by all men that conversation in the water closet shouldn’t be expected or even practiced, I simply ignored Nick and Sean (as is customary in such all-male surroundings) and made my way back to which ever stall seemed to have had the longest time since it’s last use—I hate a warm toilet seat: means germs. As I entered, I could tell that Nick and Sean weren’t talking, so I assumed that they must be aquainted with the rules of the men’s restroom.

Suddenly, Sean breaks every precedent by bellowing, “Hi, Heath!” I couldn’t believe he had spoken. It took me a while to decide how to respond. I was dumbstruck, Sean was waiting for a reply, and Nick was sort of watching over his shoulder from the urinal, waiting to see what happened next. “Oh… Hi, Sean!” I said, matching his volume and social ridgedness. The tone of the entire room changed from acceptably awkward, to awkwardly awkward.

“Look what you did. I can’t believe what you did!”

Sean’s about 29 or so, which means he’s had 4 years longer to adapt to the system than I have. But, I got the feeling that he was saying hello because he felt like he was being ignored. Now, he was being ignored, but shouldn’t he understand that? Apparently not: maybe these universal men’s room rules aren’t as universal as I had expected.

“You said to stand against the wall! I did just what you said. Its not my fault!”

My response probably seemed rude. I think I made an enemy today, but its not my fault. He should have understood.

“I believe the doors on the bathroom stalls , here at the stadium, don't offer much by way of privacy . But I was thinking if we extend the doors all the way to the floors ......”
“All the way to the floor ! What are you crazy ! You'd suffocate in there . Your lucky you have any doors at all . You know when I was in the army ......”

Sometimes I wish that urinal stalls were more private—or at least less vulnerable. In another recent breech of benevolent bathroom behavior, I was “assuming the position” when Tim the doorman walked in.

“I don't even like to use urinals, I've always been a stall man.”

Tim is an amazing person. He looks as intimidating as Christopher Walken, but he’s really as kind as Richie Cunningham. He stands guard at the building’s front door, and he greets each person by name as they enter the building. I don’t know how he does it, but he remembers everyone’s name.

“I was just in the bathroom with that Bob guy.”
“So what?”
“No, I kinda tried to test his hearing.”
“Get out! What’d you do?”
“Well, I kinda snuck up behind him at the urinal and tried to see if hecould hear me.”
“And?”
“Well, he flinched, sort of.”

So, there I was, doing my thing. I didn’t even hear him come in, then all of a sudden, “Well, how you doing there, Heath?!” I was only half relieved by this point, but the shock was such that all bodily functions ceased, and there was nothing I could do to kick start them again. Stage fright usually happens before one is on stage, so that’s not what you’d call it. I guess you could say that I just froze up. So, with an awkward countenance and a bladder that was still half full, I faked that I was done. I replied, trying to sound happy to see him, and I washed and left as quickly as possible.

“The other place I wanna be about six feet away is Urinals, you want some distance there too. ATMs and Urinals, I guess whenever someone's taking something valuable out of their pants you want to give them as much room as possible.”

If the world we live in is such that not all men understand that the bathroom is not the place to meet and greet, then men—take note; and women—inform the men in your life. Conversation usually entails eye contact and eye’s ought not to come in contact with anyone or anything inside the men’s room. If we would all just live by this simple rule, there would be a lot less stress in this world. Heck, we may even be able to solve the male patter baldness problem. After all—women follow their own bathroom rules and do you see many of them losing their hair?