Written by Joeprah | 24 November 2008

Just when I thought it was safe to once again use a public restroom—enter Friendly’s.  Friendly’s is ironically the restaurant where my wife and I actually came to meet one another.   We were in high school back then and I trained her in the ways of scooping ice cream and of course she instantly fell in love with me.  After some months of relentless pursuit on her part she captured my attention and my heart.  Now, fast forward some sixteen years later there we were—that same high school couple together once again in a Friendly’s restaurant, albeit with 12 years of marriage and three kids to our credit.  Anyways, after a satisfying lunch of chicken tenders, french fries and honey mustard I found myself in a familiar predicament—a nagging urge to go “number two” and too much distance between myself and the “home throne.” 

Friendly’s usually keeps their restrooms in passable condition, but this restroom was like none I had ever been in before.  I picked up on it as soon as I stepped into the bathroom.  Now, I am not sure why, but 99% of the public bathrooms I have been in seem somewhat frightening.  The lighting is usually poor, there is always the presence of a significant smell—either that of harsh chemicals or something even worse, and there are usually extra bathroom products/paraphernalia in full view of patrons (i.e. TP, paper towels, cleaners, etc.).  In my opinion, the only things that can make these rooms less inviting would be scary theme music and a mad scientist.  The bathroom I entered was one of those two person kind of restrooms.  It had a urinal, a stall, a sink and automatic hand dryer (see yeah right unless you have like an extra five minutes budgeted for each bathroom break).  The restroom was empty!  I was in luck because I needed that stall, but as I quickly studied the stall I noticed it had a glaring defect.  The gap between the door and the stall’s wall was massive, it was like some kind of vertically oriented mail slot for the stall.  By the looks of the gap you could slide most midsized parcels into the stall with the exception of anvils and extra large bowling balls.

Here’s the main problem I had with the gap, it laid directly in line with the door into the bathroom.  In other words, I could be “on show” for the next 2 or 3 urinal users depending on how long my chicken fingers wanted to say goodbye.  I hate moments where you instantly get a sense of negative foreshadowing and you are proven 100% right.  Well, no time to waste and all of these things that I just wrote went through my mind in like 2 ½ seconds, it wasn’t like I was standing there contemplating what to do—it was all very obvious.  I was like the mission impossible guy but just trying to get in and out of a bathroom without being visually molested.  I am in the stall now and instantly in what I like to call the “bathroom prone position,” you know the position—it’s the one where you are neither disrobed and neither completely dressed.  It’s some kind of limbo when you are at the exact moment when you are leaning forward about to slide your pants to the ground—and that’s exactly when the worst possible thing happened—dude walks in. 

Lurching like a deer in headlights, I made eye contact with the perpetrator through the impossibly wide gap in the door.  “Why is this happening to me?”  I wondered.  What was worse was that the guy who made eye contact with me just kinda stood there looking at me, and believe me when I say each second feels like an eternity in that situation.  The amount of time that it took for “ogles McGee” to stop looking at me is not known, but I estimate the time to be somewhere between 2 and 500 seconds.  You would think upon seeing me he would quickly negotiate a path to the urinal or back to his seat in the restaurant—nope, not this guy. 

Out comes the cell phone, and as quick as you can say “awkward silence” the madman had just broken two of the golden rules in restroom etiquette:

1. Thou shall not make eye contact
2. Thou shall not talk

As I sat struggling with what turned out to be both a raucous and lengthy B.M., some twenty-something punk was pacing the two foot by four foot space where the urinal was housed, talking on his cell phone and setting off the automatic hand dryer (which, I have to say masked some of my more impressive moments).  At this point, I now know way more than I wanted to about the guy standing just outside the flimsy and very questionable partition of my stall.  For instance, I know he needs to pay both his part of the cable bill and rent within the next week.  Minutes go by like hours and I am finally done.  I feel violated, annoyed, angry and relieved.  As I exit the sham of a stall, I do what I supposed to:

1. I do not make eye contact
2. I do not talk

After washing up, I mentally make note of how much I hate automatic hand dryers once again as I am buffeted on my “urinal” side by cell-phone-Sam and his endless conversation about nothing.  Moron.  So, let this be a lesson to everyone out there, beware of the bathroom stalls with big gaps: there might not be a prettier restroom nearby, but there has to be one that is more concealing.

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