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rooms of rest
July 24, 2006
a few days ago, i went into the men's room at work. my own alert level was elevated beyond normal. not like, red, not even orange. maybe, appropriately, brown. let's go with that.
two urinals, two stalls. the stall on the left is never even a consideration - the seat is broken, so it's inherently unstable. i might be fine for a moment, but if i were to shift my weight just the wrong way, all the careful layering of paper i'd done might be moot. things might touch porcelain. the thought gives me chills. those parts, of course, would have to be dipped in highly caustic cleansing fluids to ever make them right again. removal might even be called for.
the stall on the right is, therefore, the only real choice. but as soon as i went in... something wasn't right. there was some odor that wasn't even what you would, could, or should expect from a toilet. in a place that was made to accomodate so many posteriors a day, it smelled unnaturally like... well, ass.
i backed out, carefully avoiding the stall door (why do they open inwards?), washed my hands thoroughly, even though nothing had occurred, and left the bathroom. i wasn't sure what to do, so i decided to wait it out, went back to the office, washed my hands again, then resumed working.
an hour later, i headed back out to check on the conditions, because i know that the janitors come during the daytime, late morning or early afternoon. sometimes, i come in, and you just know the seat has been wiped, so it'll be clean under the inpenetrable inch-thick shield of paper i'll layer on it. sometimes, there's even the scent of cleaning products. it's still a public restroom, but it makes it all slightly less appalling.
no such luck.
wash hands, exit. i ran into my coworker robert, and i warned him off. i told him i was going to explore the other floors. it hadn't occurred to him that this could be done, and as we waited for the elevator for the next floor down, i began to impart my years of public restroom savvy.
it started in elementary school, really. i remember that the only occasional upside to being called to the principal's office was that the office had its own restroom.
they had real toilet paper, not the strange little unusuable squares the regular restroom dispensers were filled with. covering the toilet seat effectively was like shingling a roof, and there were other obvious problems, as well.
it was also the last time in my life that anything, in this case my sense of disdain for The Man, could overcome my realization that to touch anything in a public bathroom was effectively the end of my life. i would lock the door, then crawl out from under the door. it brought me joy, and no one ever seemed to catch on. very strange.
in high school, i discovered the faculty bathroom. there was no key required, i guess it just didn't occur to the other kids to go in there. by that time, i was under no illusion that adults were any cleaner than kids, but there was less traffic, and only one stall, so it was relatively luxurious.
only once was i caught. i was only going in for the urinal, so brazen was i in my sense of entitlement, and i was taking my own sweet time about it, too, when assistant principal coach oscar zepeda came in. he looked at me, went to the urinal next to me, and asked me why i had skipped class the week before. it had only been the first time i ever skipped out of school, but he asked me to try not to do it again, and i mostly didn't.
i filled robert in on the restrooms at the driscoll hotel, knowledge that had been imparted to me by my friend michael years ago. if you're ever out on sixth street, there is absolutely no reason to go into the flooded skanky-assed bathroom at the ritz when you can luxuriate in an individual real-wood-paneled bathroom with a real door.
robert and i exited on the sixth floor, the executive offices of a bank. the bathroom was in the same place in the hall as on our floor, but as the door opened, i felt like dorothy opening the door of her house just after the crashdown.
instead of the nondescript mauve tiles on the seventh floor, there was faux slate tile. where our urinals and two stalls were divided by beige sheet metal, here there was simulated cherrywood, and only one grand stall. someone had even left the sports section hanging on the railing there, although, of course, i could only read what was visible without touching it.
robert was suitably impressed, used the urinal, and left, and i settled into the luxury stall. moments later, i heard the door open, and heard the clack of leather-soled dress shoes on the tile. i could catch glimpses of cuffs, a white dress shirt, a conservative tie through the gaps in the stall wall.
i realized i was in jeans and one of my three or four wearable, though wrinkled, short-sleeve shirts, and bright red trail running shoes, the sort of thing you can wear when you're a 37 year-old attorney doing temporary document review grunt work.
i'm used to being places i don't belong, but i still felt conspicuous, and though i was done, i waited for him to leave.
i thought briefly of locking the door and going over the top of the stall, locking the suits out of their own domain, but thought better of it, washed my hands, and slipped out quietly.
Posted by Rob at July 24, 2006 11:04 AM
Comments
You're back baby!
Brilliant!
Posted by: Mike at July 28, 2006 01:12 PM
thanks, man. the people, they like to read about pooping. the kind of people i hang out with, anyway.
Posted by: rob at July 28, 2006 01:19 PM