On Public Restrooms

I don’t particularly care for public restrooms. I think that they are perfectly convenient, even necessary, devices. That doesn’t mean I have to like them. Every time I enter one I say a quick prayer of thanks that I am a man and don’t have to sit on a public toilet every time I enter the wretched places. This is especially true when I enter one of those bathrooms I am confident every disease known to man uses as a vacation destination. You must have been in these, they are restrooms you walk into and decide not to wash your hands because the parts of yourself you just touched must be cleaner than the faucet. And you don’t flush the toilet because you just know you’ll get the black plague if you touch the handle. Of course these restrooms don’t contain a single modern, automatic device.

Not that I think these disastrous excuses for automatic technologies are much better. With all of our technological advances one would think that these devices would not be as infuriating as they are. It is an odd feeling to be standing at the urinal, halfway through a good pee when it automatically flushes. The point of the sensor is to identify when someone is there and then when they leave. I don’t know about anybody else but whenever this happens to me I automatically question my very existence. The thought runs through my head “am I actually here? What if I’m actually a ghost? What if I died in the middle of peeing?” A trip to the restroom should not trigger an existential crisis.

Then there is the automatic soap dispenser, which are simply torture devices. Forget about Chinese water torture, these would be the perfect tools to drive someone crazy. Every one I’ve seen has a layer of dried soap beneath it because of the constant stream of people placing their hands beneath the dispenser, waiting for something to happen, and giving up only to have the thing dispense the soap as soon as the hands are removed. This usually leads to an odd sort of dance as the hands go back and forth, getting absolutely no soap on them.

The automatic sinks are just as bad. The last time I was in a restroom with automatic faucets there were three of them in one long trough of a sink. I spent five minutes jumping between the three and didn’t see a drop of water. The ones that actually dispense often have the sensor so misplaced that the water comes out on your forearms, or just the tips of your fingers. There is no standard for the amount of time they run either; some will barely moisten your skin and others will dispense half of the Mississippi before turning off. Don’t even get me started on the countless automatic paper towel dispensers that have required me to hit the “touch less” sensor.

By far my biggest public restroom lament doesn’t have anything to do with the state of the place, it comes down to my own neuroses. I am a nervous poo-er. I’m not ashamed of it and I have actually embraced it. What this entails is a thorough inspection of the stall before I use it. First, if there is anything in the toilet it is an automatic no. The inspection of the seat comes next. Any sort of unidentifiable object is an automatic disqualification, especially if it is an unknown fluid. Finally there is the check to see if there is any toilet paper, although the stuff that is in most public restrooms can hardly be called paper. If you can see the details of your fingerprints through it, it should not be used to try to clean anything, let alone bodily excretions, but that could be a whole separate post. Ideally these inspections are done when I am alone in the bathroom and no one sees me enter or exit the stall. This means that there have been many occasions where I have sat in the stall after concluding my business waiting for other people to leave before I exit.

My final complaint is a combination of my own neuroses and the fact that dealing with people in public restrooms is often akin to torture. There is occasionally a person who will try to have a conversation with you. I am a fan of the no talking policy in the restroom. To quote comedian Matt Bellasai “don’t talk to me when anything is entering or exiting my body.” Even worse the other day I had someone pull a Larry Craig and try to solicit me in the public restroom. I can think of few places less sexy than that. The fact that this is even an occasional occurrence really freaks me out.

Please tell me that I am not the only one with these rules. I can’t possibly be. If you are one of those bathroom talkers, please, think of those people like me the next time the urge to speak strikes you. Keep your head down, mouth shut, get in, and get out.