The Men’s room – part 2

Hey presto... sex change

When we last spoke I was describing the wonderful world of the men’s room – truly the factory of dreams. Follow me if you will as we indentify a few more of the mythical beasts that call this place “home”.

 Perhaps one of the most awkward “personalities” (term used in the broadest of senses) is the “starer” or the “comparer”. It is usually as one is about midstream that you would notice the looming shadow of the starer cast over the urinal in front of you. Their vision is based on movement it would appear, for to simply glance out the corner of your eye doesn’t interrupt their gaze. It is only as you move your head to see if they are in fact lurching over you that they snap back into what one would consider the normative stance for urinal usage.

 Although not always the case, I find that the “starer/comparer” is often also the “shaker”. The shaker is the guy who is either so incredibly diligent at ensuring the last drop of urine is dispelled from him or gets some sort of strange stimulation from flicking it about like the wand of an epileptic wizard at a trance party. (There is supposedly some rule about not shaking it more than twice, but that sounds like the same sort of nonsense as the people who described the Hokey pokey as being “what it’s all about”)

 The tuneless whistler/hummer/singer is another denizen of the men’s room whom I only wish was more rarely spotted than is fact. If you thought that the awkwardness of the men’s room was confined to the urinal area you would be quite mistaken for some of the strangest moments are found elsewhere including but not limited to the cubicle stalls and the wash basin mirror and these minstrels provide its soundtrack.

 In fact there is nothing quite as heart wrenchingly terrifying as lifting the lid on the public toilet – to witness the terrors that may dwell within. The infamous floater, chocolate life raft or survivor turd – whatever you call it we all know the fear it instils in our hearts as it stares at us mockingly while you reach to flush again (or for the first time depending on the abhorrent manners or hygiene of the prior stall patron).

 My final objectionable personality that ruins the sanctuary that is the now ironically named “restroom” is the “far too comfortable groomer”. I understand that mirrors in restrooms are designed for one to check that you’re looking presentable. To fix one’s hair; check if there is anything in your teeth; and maybe fix your shirt or tie, but some individuals take the opportunity of self grooming to a whole other level as if they were in their own private bathroom.

 Checking your hair is one thing, but plucking your eyebrows is another. Washing your hands or even your face is one thing, but popping pimples on the restroom mirror is something entirely different. My only hope is that they can’t see me and wouldn’t be so comfortable if they knew I was there or that these individuals are in fact not in possession of a mirror at home and so the public bathroom is actually an event for them and a momentous occasion in their personal grooming calendar.

 There you have it ladies (and men), the inner workings of the men’s room and without having to result to dangerous espionage, pornography or using your imagination.

The Men’s Room – A collection of “Personalities”

Ladies you're making this um "harder" than it needs to be

There has always been a level of intrigue from the male gender towards the goings on in ladies public bathrooms. We are intrigued as to why woman travel in groups to the restroom and why they are so frequently require a “powdering of their noses” (as frequently as a cocaine addict might use the same euphemistic pardon).

  As with most situations our only glimpse into the inner workings of ladies’ restrooms is through what we are told by woman, regaled by brave men who have snuck behind enemy lines and whatever the pornography industry chooses to have us believe.

 Little do we know that women are as eagerly intrigued by what happens in Men’s restrooms and so to appease my female demographic here is my account of the everyday men’s restroom and the personalities within.

 Unlike my imaginings of a female restroom, a men’s room has far less instances of conversation, potpourri or homoerotic fondling (thank you porn industry). It is a room designed purely for the functional use of relieving oneself of bodily excretions and in fact conversation is in many ways frowned upon. There is something a little odd about standing a few inches from another man and having a conversation knowing full well that you are both holding one’s exposed (and hopefully flaccid) penis – not exactly a conversational norm in any other setting.

 That doesn’t stop several distinct personality types from indentifying themselves. There is of course the philosopher who will take the opportunity of awkward silence to let you know his view on the world – the quality of this philosophical discourse is inversely proportional to the amount of alcohol consumed (as with most things) and so do be warned that most of these philosophers will be found in nightclub restrooms. Some of my favourite pearls of wisdom which have been imparted on me in the past include “you don’t really buy alcohol, you just sort of rent it…look there it goes!” or “Chicks… you can’t live with em…” (that was all).

 Thankfully the “Philosopher” isn’t really looking for conversation merely a congregation so a few “aha’s” and “amen, brother” is all you really need to reply before you slink away unharmed. Far more troublesome is the conversationalist who feels that standing a few inches with one’s penis one’s hand is the perfect time to chat about the weather, the political climate or the local sports team’s chances this year. Unfortunately one is forced to respond in these circumstances and it is at this stage one can be quite thankful for the small talk skills one develops from years of government skills, low paying jobs in the service industry and visits to elderly relatives have bestowed.

 The awkwardness of this “conversational” interaction can be exasperated by the introduction of one of my personal pet peeves of ingenuity – the blue tooth headset. You see because one is generally looking straight in front of you and not able to see the moronic little ear tumour, when the gentlemen next to you suddenly says “Hi there” you instinctively think he is talking to you and not someone on the other end of the phone. It does get a little strange I find when this individual starts doing a running commentary of what is going on at the time – but then again, weird means something a whole lot else in a men’s room.

“Yeah hi there, I’m just in the men’s room taking a piss. That beer is going straight through me.”

 Yeah, thanks for reminding me….