I decided to kill some time this weekend while waiting to meet up for dinner with a couple of friends. I really wish I could figure out a way to be paid professionally to both kill time AND meet with friends but there are no senate or congressional seats available at present.
My time waster du jour included taking in some baseball and a couple of beers at a bar near the restaurant.
Having the common effect that beer does, I scanned the room for the men’s room. This may sound odd, but I think I’d like to start a publication solely dedicated to restrooms. The AAA, Mobil or Zagat’s rating guide to the best and worst if you will.
I’d even include a special pull-out reference guide of do’s and don’ts with regard to restroom protocol.
They say you should judge a restaurant by its restrooms. I don’t want to hear that! I’ve had great food at restaurants with undesirable restrooms. I probably wouldn’t want to see the kitchen but, as long as the food isn’t being prepared in the restroom, I adopt the “if I don’t see it, it’s not there” rule.
By the way gentlemen, the men’s room isn’t a comedy club and if it were, we‘re in dire need of some A-list talent.
My least favorite worn out attempt at comedy in the men’s room comes from the guy who cleverly announces that “We don’t buy em’ we only rent the beers”. Hahahahahah…MAN, that’s funny! Hurry up and go rent some more before I get urinal stage fright and injure my bladder.
Call me a snob, but I’m not really into meaningful conversation at the urinal. I appreciate great conversation, I even enjoy mediocre conversation, but I’d rather save it for the table or after sex. My list is in no particular order.
For the guys who utter the self aggrandizing “Man, this water is cold…and deep”, it was funny when Karl used it as disencumbered dialogue in Slingblade and that’s pretty much the size of it, so to speak. One day someone is finally going to snap and drown you in the toilet bowl and go to the bathroom on your head if you continue to expose us to this joke.
I also absolutely LOVE restroom graffiti. Who knew that Stacey gives good head? If I happen across her at the bar I’ll feel much better having this valuable inside info, thus I will put on my A-game.
If she’s sitting with Robert I’ll feel much better about my chances with Stacey because, according to the men’s room wall, he ALSO gives good head and is actively looking to do so on Tuesday night between 10pm and midnight in the back parking lot. I hope he finds what he’s looking for, although I feel strongly that his self imposed 2-hour window is rather limiting.
I hold special sympathy for the guys who have to drop the deuce in a public restroom…especially when the unstoppable urge occurs at the most popular club in town with about 80,000 patrons drifting in and out of a restroom with no stall doors. I would just hold it. But, then again, I always hold it when it comes to public numero deux (deux). I like home field advantage.
Most guys treat the restroom experience as though they’re walking away from Sodom and Gomorrah or as if Madusa is in the room. Fearing that the slightest eye contact will turn them to a pillar of salt or stone. I’m not that extreme, but I understand those who are.
Which brings to mind the good old pee pee trough. I hate, hate, hate them. I’m not overly modest but the trough is a little too open for my taste.
I don’t care what any guy tells you, it’s sometimes IMPOSSIBLE not to catch a glance if your peripheral vision is up to par. It’s unavoidable, especially if the guy next to you seems to have a liquid spouting telephone pole. I suppose the water is indeed cold and deep for these gentlemen.
I will also uncover a breaking news story…you might be amazed by the number of guys who don’t wash their hands in the men’s room…or maybe not.
Back to my little pre-dinner diversion-- I found the men’s room, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by an “Out of order” sign. The obvious alternative was to venture into “No Man’s Land”. The mysterious, somewhat mythological, oasis that most guys only hear about through stories passed down from generation to generation by tribal elders.
The Ladies room!
Finally! I will gain knowledge that can someday be passed to the next generation, like a torch or a sacred heirloom. A glorious story of the secret garden that most of us haven’t the capacity to grasp. There would probably be a grand piano, a spa, perhaps a hot towel attendant and a gift shop.
I hesitantly opened the door with the cautiousness of the irritating guy who’s about to be killed in a teen horror film. FINALLY, I will be exposed to a world that’s securely hidden behind a small door with an unassuming little stick figure emblazoned “Ladies.”
No orchestra? No gift shop? No one giving massages? What?? It DID smell pleasant and it was decidedly cleaner than a typical men’s room, but where is the big screen TV and the champagne??
I did my business and, YES, I lowered the seat when I finished. I also learned that Craig is an asshole and that Keith has herpes…according to the wall that is.
While my ladies room experience felt as though I were in an episode of myth-busters, I somehow feel like a modern day Cortez or Columbus. Even though I didn’t pillage, plunder, enslave or burn any ships, I feel that, in some small way, I proved that the world beyond that mysterious door is indeed round...and equipped with a tampon machine. So now I shall pass it along through regaling tales to my comrades.
By the way, when I publish the restroom rating guide, the back inside flap will include a compartment for emergency TP! I’m gonna get sooo rich with this idea.
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
