Tales from the Men’s Room

So I’ve gotten myself back on the health wagon again lately, which means I’ve been consuming a lot of that high quality H2O, which has necessitated a few extra trips to the little boys room on a daily basis. I always wondered where the term “little boy’s room” originated. Perhaps from some self conscious dude who felt more at ease not having to live up to the “big boy’s room” standards. Or the Catholic church.

Anyway, what I have discovered recently about a trip to the public restroom is that you can learn a lot about a guy from the way he secretes. And since there are distinct differences between the pee-ers and the poo-ers, I shall refer to them as the number ones and the number twos so that you can follow along easier at home.

Most number ones just stand there minding their own business, quietly considering where they need to go after the pit stop…maybe what they are doing after work, etc. Unfortunately for the standard number one, there are too many odd balls (pardon the pun) hanging out in the adjacent stalls. The one I hate the most is the gabber. The guy that wants to hold a conversation with you while standing at a urinal. Now, I’m all for multitasking, but this is a bit much. If I wanted to know what you did over the weekend or why your car is in the shop, I will meet you in the lunch room. While I have my manhood in hand I do not care to hear the sweet nothings from Rick in Accounting.

Then there is the dying guy. That’s the guy that needs to use his arm as a crutch to lean on the wall as he goes about his business, all the while breathing like he is giving birth. I thought I was going to have to call 911 for a guy yesterday he was breathing so hard. Dude, peeing is not an aerobic sport. Mix in a few side salads and 30 minutes on the treadmill a few times a week and see if you can’t build up a little stamina. Unless you just ran a marathon…twice…I don’t need to be subjected to your audition tape to The Biggest Loser.

And then there is longevity man. It’s not what you think, get your mind out of the gutter. This is the guy that apparently hasn’t peed in a week and a half. He is the guy that is already standing there when you arrive. He stands there quietly as you go about your business, wash your hands and is still standing there as you leave. Either this guy limits his daily trips to the can to one and has to make it count, or he has a prostate the size of a pumpkin. One time, it occured to me that I had left some papers behind and went back in about 2 minutes later and the guy was still standing there. I thought about nudging him with a stick to see if he was awake, but I didn’t need him turing around and marking his territory elsewhere.

Number twos are a whole different breed of human being. Again, I classify myself as a typical number two. I just go in, do my business and get out. Especially in the public forum. At home, this is private time. Time to catch up on some light reading, contemplate life’s great mysteries, etc. In public, not so much. You just wanna get in and get out.

I’ve always wondered why men’s rooms have an even number of sit down stalls. Men will never use a stall when the adjacent stall is occupied, unless it is a last resort, meaning you won’t make it to the next available restroom without soiling yourself. It’s a disheartening feeling to walk into a restroom to find that some other dude has confiscated your favorite stall. A guy will try 10 different bathrooms in a 3 story building to find just the right spot. I guess we are sort of like dogs in that way, allthough I’ve never sniffed the bowl first. Nothing is more rude than having a three stall scenario and finding a dude has taken the middle stall, thereby negating the other two stalls.

A lot of number twos activate ninja skills the moment someone else enters the room. Silence is golden, and most guys will perforate their colons in the attempt to be quiet in the midst of an intruder. Like the guy is gonna wait to write you a citation for noise polution for taking a poop or something. Then of course is the number two that has absolutely no ethical concerns at all when dealing with his public perception. That’s the guy that unleashes an unholy tirade of gastriointestinal malevolence that makes all of the other patrons cut their business short in order to flee as quickly as possible, hoping to God that they can outrun the toxicity that is spreading like a mushroom cloud. This is the guy that just doesn’t care that he sounds like he is throwing puppies into a wood chipper.

Finally there is the guy I like to call, the cross contaminator. That’s the number one that utilizes the number two’s space to do the number one, even though there is ample space at the number one location. What is that all about? Self consciouness? Trust me dude, I ain’t looking. Maybe I should just be happy that it’s not the gabber or the dying guy and call it good.

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