“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do….

… two can be as bad as one, it’s the loneliest number since the number 1”    - Harry Nilsson

Am I the only one that finds that bathroom business is irritating?

It’s like doing your taxes. You have to do them, and you’re happy when they’re done, even though you’ve lost more than you’ve gained. But you just wish it didn’t have to happen at all. However, unlike tax time, bathroom business happens every DAY!

(Sidebar: That’s one audit I wouldn’t want to attend.)

Even more annoying is dealing with some of the chuckleheads that you run into using public restrooms. Already, using “public” with something that should be private is NOT good in my mind. I don’t like retail, much less this debacle.

Firstly… would it KILL you to wash your hands? I am amazed how many people don’t clean their hands after flailing them all over a disgusting landscape of germs. It’s like a germ kegger! And when you have OCD like myself, you start to think about all of the people that shook your hand and know that odds are some of them didn’t wash theirs before they shook yours. In effect, you’re shaking more than their hand now. If I wanted to handle another guy’s schlong I at least would ask for a date first. Who knows? Maybe I like him.

By the by, that’s a good thing about having an OCD friend, which can sometimes be annoying. We all wash ourselves really well. So don’t worry, you won’t be handling my undercarriage if we meet.

I guess you could say that there are two major categories to deal with in the scary subject of public restrooms.

Number 1:

I’ll admit that urinating is pretty easy as a guy. However, I don’t like BECAUSE it’s so easy, some commercial venues decide to keep it too simple. Like, caveman simple.

The old Boston Garden was one of the worst. There was a big round trough and guys all stood in a circle and pissed in the middle. You’re trying to pee between periods of a Bruins game and all of a sudden you’re nearly in a circle-jerk. It was awful.

And that reminds me of the urinals at Nantasket Beach. The urinals sat back to back, with NO walls above them. So essentially, you’d be peeing and a guy would go to the one across from you… and you’d be looking at eachother in awkward manner.

The only thing separating the two of you from having a homoerotic moment is about 8” of porcelain.

Number 2:

When you’re talking about dropping your pants in public, I’m already concerned. (Unless you’re Kate Winslet, then I have to say I am perfectly ok with that). But when you add the idea that you potentially have to sit or hover over a seat that has rested who KNOWS how many asses before yours… It becomes truly scary to me.

I am on the road for work all of the time, so I have to deal with this often. And some of the restrooms out there are really frightening.

I sometimes wish that I had one of those wire harnesses that Tom Cruise had in Mission: Impossible.

I would be able to hover over the aforementioned dropoff spot, then swing around and do a cross-legged cannonball launch:

It’s brilliant, no?

Of course, with my friggin’ luck the wire would snap and the worst case scenario finally makes itself known to me:

Maybe I should stay on my feet.

One way I could lighten up the moment for myself…. When nobody is looking…

I’ll plie’.

(Sidebar 2: I know… I know… I can’t do a plie’ at all. But in my defense, do you realize how hard it is to take a picture of yourself acting foolish in only 3 seconds from a laptop? Maybe the arabesque would have been easier.)

Another thing that I hate is the “showdown”. I’m not grand at letting myself fly in a stall when I’m surrounded, if you catch my drift. So when someone comes into the stall next to me, I usually try to wait the other guy out. But every now & then… I find a true adversary. Another guy who wants to wait ME out. You end up both sitting there quietly until one of you finally gives in. It can go on for a while.

I have lost a few of those bouts by the way, but I know I’ve won more than I lost. I usually celebrate with the raising the roof gesture in the confines of my stall:

“Oh yeah…. Oh yeah!”

After the win, you dispose of the many layers of protective paper you’d stacked, flush the toilet with your foot and kick the door open to depart. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

So, if you ever end up in a stall next to me, would you let me win please? And promise me that if you’re going to touch me in some way that you’ll WASH your hands first? Do we have a deal?!

How about we shake on it?

Hands, that is.