Tuesday, November 9, 2010


If there is one thing I hate, it's a public restroom. Specifically, I do NOT visit the facilities at the Burger King, gas stations or Best Buys. I prefer to use the facilities at Cracker Barrel, McDonalds or any other upscale dining establishment.

I feel like needing to go to the bathroom is made a huge deal our whole lives. When we're tiny ones, we get cheers and candy when we use the commode. We grow up calling it different names like John and Johnny and believing the Porcelain Prince is fit for a king. In middle and high school, at least where I come from, you have to ask for the bathroom pass. Typically it's a large piece of wood that you have to carry with you to the bathroom. I don't know why except to make you a) feel foolish for needing to use the john and b) make sure you don't run away from school. But the only thing about that school of thought is if I were going to run away from school, I wouldn't just run away with a giant piece of wood engraved with the word "Bathroom" on it. I would at least make sure I had my backpack and keys. Also, at my high school, you had to call a school administrator to come get you out of class and escort you to the bathroom. Yes, my friends, we had to be escorted to the john. If we took too long, whomever the lucky escort was would yell into the bathroom to "hurry up in there, ya hear!" I mean, talk about embarrassing. What if you had a serious case of, well, you know what I mean. Because of the aforementioned issues with going to the bathroom, a lot of people, women to be exact, learn the art of the perch. They just...perch...above the commode and take care of business. This subtracts time from having to cover the seat with paper before sitting down. It also makes it impossible for anyone else to cover the seat with paper as it is a rare occasion that the perch actually gets things done quickly AND dryly.

I have never perfected the art of the perch. I think it's gross. I'd rather waste trees, and take up more people's time by covering my seat with paper. Except, sometimes I can see where the perch would come in handy. For example, if I were the tranny I came upon in the Best Buy facilities one wintry night, I can see why perching would be necessary. But the time I realized how imperative it should have been that I learn to properly perch was at my brother's college graduation. We celebrated that he was finally done with college by going to his favorite restaurant for a luncheon. I of course had to visit the facilities about the time I found myself in the middle of everyone just as we were seated. After carefully covering the seat with paper, like my mama taught me, I sat down and BAM. The seat slid to the left. I hadn't quite fallen off, so I scooted a bit to slide the seat back in place. But the seat didn't stop in the middle of the hinge and it slid to the right. So I scooted again but instead I incorrectly gauged the distance and the seat went flying back to the left. Seems like a fun ride, eh? Except it let me off in the middle, right into the commode. Now, this event made me feel badly for myself for several reasons. Not only did I manage to break the commode and literally fall in the toilet, but there was a splash when I fell. I also had a hurt hineymo, not to mention my pride. After collecting myself and making sure I had put soap and water in all the nooks and crannies, I went back to the table where my mother promptly and loudly says, "what happened to you? did you fall in?"

yes, mama. i fell in the toilet. shame on you for not teaching me to perch. or just stand like a man.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for that trip down memory lane. It had slipped my mind that we had to call for bathroom escorts at the BIG I. I will say it did keep you guys in class...as students only asked to go when they really needed to.