Alright, CyberSpace. I know that it’s been killing you. You’ve been sitting around all day, just DYING to know, “What does Sarah think about bowel movements in public restrooms?”
Well, ole buddy, I’m fixing to put an end to that quandry. Right here, right now.
This is inspired NOT by, as you may have imagined, walking into a wretched bathroom here at work or elsewhere in public, but by a growing argument between Bryan and myself. It is tearing this couple apart, as only an argument based on the preferences of Sarah’s lower intestines could. So I need a vote.
How many people are comfortable having a bowel movement in a public restroom facility?
Because I, my friends, am not. Bryan says this is ridiculous. But here is my rationale:
Women exclusively use stalls in the bathroom. There is no conversational bathroom reparte unless you know the user of the other stall. It’s not like a men’s room, where you see the full body and face of your neighbor. Your stall partner is indeed a mystery, unless you can identify them through other means: LIKE SHOES.
So when I am in a stall, bored, and want to strike up a conversation, I observe my fellow reliever’s shoes. If I recognize them, I’ll make small talk. For instance, if I see those hot pink crocs that I saw Marsha wearing earlier that day, I might say, “Hey Marsha-Who-Wears-Crocs.. how’s the world on your side of the partition?” She, in turn, would shift uncomfortably and stammer some incredibly short reply.
Well, let’s say that someone is “getting bagels”, and I worry about the progress they’re making. Let’s say there’s tons of grunting, and a bit of straining to be heard, and sudden silence follows. Did they asphyxiate themself? Did they cause a blood clot? Should I call for help? Well, needless to say, I check their shoes and then go tell someone that Slip-On-Sketchers has died on the john.
So I know that women check shoes. And if I’m in the stall, dropping the Brown family off at the pool, I know someone is going to check my shoes. Then, as I’m walking around Target or wherever I’ve defiled the restroom, I ALWAYS spot someone eyeing my shoes, then nudging their neighbor and pointing. “That’s HER,” I know they whisper, “SHE’S the one who’s intestines are clearly rotting.”
That’s the question? Does anyone else have as many issues as I do?