Not good, not good, not good!

It probably hasn’t gone unnoticed by you that men and women often have… different tendencies. One of the vast differences that I have noted are the weird and inexplicable acceptable behaviors concerning ‘Public Restroom Etiquette.’

Let’s be completely honest about it, once you walk past the door marked with whatever gender you identify with, the social norms that one lives by outside the restroom are replaced by a whole new set that only exist in the lavatory setting. I will not propose to fully know what the rules are for females. I have been a male my entire life, but I did grow up with three sisters, and I have learned some things along the way.

For the ladies, many of them don’t want to head to the restroom alone. Why? I don’t exactly know. I have done a very non-exhaustive survey regarding this phenomenon, and here are some of the explanations I have received. ‘One must be sure that nothing is tucked in where things are not meant to be tucked.’ That makes sense to me as a male, wanting at all costs to avoid unnecessary embarrassment.

Another answer I have been often given is, ‘Well we had to talk.’ Now what those conversations are about, that I have never been privy to, and I am not exactly sure I really want to know. You know? I can’t recall a single life changing conversation in my life that has been accompanied by the flushing of toilets, the whirring of automatic soap dispensers, the washing of hands, followed by a hot air blower or paper towels being dispensed. Anyway…

Generally speaking, guys don’t want to converse in the restroom. They, at least, won’t go there for the sole purpose of talking. On occasion, if you happen to already be in conversation, you might continue a discussion while relieving yourself at the urinal, but even less likely if you are concentrating on the process of having to use a stall. When the conversation is over though, at that point, it’s over. You’re in the restroom to… well you know the rest.

There are other unwritten social etiquette rules for guys when walking into a bathroom. For instance, it could be challenging when a bathroom is more crowded than you expect. If there is an open urinal, but it is between two guys, you don’t squeeze yourself in to use it, especially if there are other options available to you. I have been tempted to do so in the past, just to be a ‘restroom rebel,’ but I have yet to muster the courage. It probably has to do with the time I witnessed someone attempt such a bold move with disastrous results.

I went with my best friend to a Philadelphia Seventy-Sixers’ game back in the late 90s. The first quarter had been delayed in it’s start because one the players, during warm-ups, had a gel-soled shoe that had somehow burst. It caused goop to infect a spot on the court, making it dangerous for the game to proceed.

I have no idea what the stuff was made of, but after much deliberation, someone who was responsible for such things in the arena had to figure out how to clean it up. Apparently there wasn’t a ‘goop on the court emergency protocol’ to follow, so the process to get the stuff off the floor left all the fans waiting for the start of the game with nothing to do but to wait, complain, and to buy lots of concessions.

After the clean-up was completed, the game went forward as scheduled, albeit just an hour behind. I am unable to tell you who the Seventy-Sixers played that night, nor whether or not they won the game. I only remember half-time.

What I had grown accustomed to seeing was that at half-time the line for the ladies restroom was miles upon miles long, since that is what this is all about, and the gentlemen’s restroom was a nice easy flow of men coming and going as they please. No pun intended. This day it was quite the opposite.

At first I thought, as I waited as the two-hundred and first person in the line wondering if I’d make it back to see the third quarter begin, that there might actually be something to this ‘come with me to the bathroom deal’ during the game. I had seen women in pairs not caring what was going on in the game to ‘powder their noses’ or whatever euphemism is used in polite society. I knew that I instead had held it in and unfortunately waited for half-time to roll around. Everyone knows that women are smarter than men anyhow. So even though it didn’t make any sense to me, I was willing at that point to consider acquiescing that it possibly had some credence. 

I didn’t dare ask anyone exiting the men’s room why the line was so long. Everyone knew we are not there to talk. So the mystery remained a mystery until I made it past the door, and it was my turn to hold it open.

In the long line of urinals, the third one from the left was dripping from the lever. Remember… this is the late 90s and automatic flushing toilets were not yet in wide usage. This trickle created a medium sized puddle that had spread to either side of it. So the seven receptacles that were free were in constant use, and the urinals next to the drippy one were hesitantly used by individuals when they were the only ones left.

Someone, a few spots ahead of me, decided he was going to cut the line, and proudly announced, “I’ll use it.” All who heard him had to be thinking, ‘he must really have to go!’

An onlooker warned, “I wouldn’t do it, man.”

The brave man stopped in stride, looked over his shoulder, and calmly stated, “Nah! I’m going to do it.”

Everyone paused, even in mid-pee, as if time had just stopped. There was not a sound to be heard but the drip drip drip of the leaky valve.

He boldly walked to the incessantly leaking urinal, unzipped his pants, dropped them, and placed his arms defiantly on his hips. And proclaimed, with a look of relief, “See! All good…” and he nodded his head to the guys standing on either side of him as if they were going to mentally high five him or something.

Then it happened. Drip, drip, drip… drip, drip, drip. His left foot started to slip a little, followed by his right. His legs began to splay out and were stopped by the gentlemen standing beside him, who were trying to mind to their own business. One of them, however, reacted, making the situation worse for this poor proud man. Though he struggled with all his might to stay upright, he slipped forward. “Oh no! Oh no!” he screamed, but no one dared help him. No one knew how. He had been warned.

With no recourse but to use his hands, he flung them forward in hopes of catching the top. The porcelain was wet there too. His hands slipped, as everyone knew they would, and as he slipped, face planted in the surface of the urinal, he screamed, “Not good, not good, not good!”

He should have known better. Never squeeze between. So to this day, I don’t. I’m not sure it’s ever worth it. Whenever I consider it, the idea just seems… not good, not good, not good.