Engaging post title, don't you think? Little known fact, "Everybody Poops" was a b-side from R.E.M.'s
Automatic for the People.
Okay, that's a total fabrication. On with the post.
Bathrooms. Water Closets. Outhouses. Whatever you want to call them, they are a fact of life. For the sake of decency and some semblance of a functioning society, we use these places to carry out some basic bodily functions (as opposed to just dropping trou in the 12-items-or-fewer isle at the grocery). It is something that we simply have to accept, even though there is an almost universal disdain toward having to use public facilities (the level of that disdain varying wildly by location). And even though they aren't usually open to the hoi polloi, we are often forced to share our workplace bathroom with other coworkers, making them "public restrooms" as well, and equally deserving of scorn and trepidation.
I have many, many public bathroom stories. I have seen, heard, and otherwise
sensed things there that I had never imagined before in my life. I can't say that I'm a better person now for having experienced such things, but I'm certainly a better storyteller.
It seems to me that men universally have more bathroom stories to share than women. Entering a men's room is like being transported back to the Wild West: you have to be on your guard at all times, as you are now in a place far from civilization where lawlessness abounds and almost anything goes. Ladies' rooms, I imagine, are quite different, likely due to the social nature of the feminine creature and the fact that I'm relatively certain women don't, in fact, defecate. But that's an issue for another time.
This afternoon I made my way into the men's room at work. As with any trip to a public lavatory, one is careful to avoid touching as many surfaces as possible. The paramount example of this is, perhaps, the compulsive need to prevent any butt-on-seat contact in the stalls. Sure, the seat may be dry, but it probably wasn't always, and just the thought of all those bare ham bags resting there before yours is enough to give anyone
the jibblies. As with (I imagine) most workplaces, our restroom stalls lack those tear off deli-paper seat covers, so it is not unheard of for one to fashion their own. It's a small annoyance, perhaps, but it's worth the modicum of peace of mind it delivers.
Of course, it is only polite--nay, required--that one flush their makeshift derrière doilie after use. And yet, today, when I opened the stall door, I found one just sitting there waiting for me. I shuddered a little and moved down one door, marveling at the fact that this isn't the first time this has happened. Sitting on a seat that everyone else has shared is a little uncomfortable, but the thought of reusing the toilet-paper-seat-guard that another person fashioned is just down right unsettling. And very, very wrong.
Though, maybe I'm looking at it the improper light. Maybe it was done as an anonymous favor.
Maybe someone was paying it forward.
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