Bethany Well

Scenario sound familiar? It’s 10:30am and you’re on your way to the john, as is your morning ritual. (Too much fiber for breakfast might cause this.) You open the door and slightly peek your head in and scout the bathroom floor. No shoes? Good. You’re in the clear.

You walk on over to the stall you’ve designated as your personal potty, and pop a squat to do the dirty deed.

And at that same exact moment, you hear the door creak open. DOH!!! Why is someone intruding in my private moment? 10:30am is MY time. What is going on here?

The vein on top of your forehead is about to burst because you’ve just unnaturally stopped nature’s course to take place and release whatever excrement has been wanting to leave your digestive system. And to make matters worse, you hear the person open the stall door RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS. I mean, seriously, WHY?!?!?! I never understood this. If you walk into a bathroom and see four stalls, and you see that the one all the way at the end is occupied, wouldn’t you (out of consideration, respect, dignity or just pure personal space) take the stall furthest away?

Anyway, I digress. You hear the person unzip, sit down, and pull some toilet paper from the roll to lay on top… (good thinking… do they really think that those tissue-paper-like “protective sheets” they provide us is really going to save us from diseases lurking around the toilet?? NUH UH.)

And so the war begins…

What I’m talking about here is a very silent war. Even the tiniest ripple, rumble, shuffling or breath could be heard. The two stall inhabitants are waiting for the other one to “go” first so that occupant #1 could have the guilt-free relief of knowing that whatever activity goes on in their stall is deemed just as bad (or not that bad–or even worse) than whatever’s going on in toilet #2.

See, the thing is, I NEVER allow myself to lose in these bathroom wars. Find me in the thickest trenches of the battle, and I’ll still come out as the reigning champion. There ain’t no way I’m letting a co-worker hear–or smell– me at my most vulnerable state. ESPECIALLY since one look under the stall and this pooper’s identity is revealed! Forget anonymity. You might as well write your name outside your stall because the whole world knows who is in there and what they’re doing.

And let me tell you (or, rather, Dave will tell you.) I’m not the shyest person when it comes to personal bodily releases (in the gaseous form.) (If you must know, I had Salmonella last year, and let’s just say my system hasn’t been the same ever since. I can’t even tell the difference between what’s voluntary and not.)

But I don’t think I will ever grow comfortable with the idea that the person whom I sit next to and share office gossip with (just kidding I try stay out of that) can KNOW me intimately like that.

Am I wrong? Paranoid? Delusional? Over-obsessing about nothing? These bathroom wars sneak up on me every so often enough for me to consider holding it in the entire day (which I don’t think is physically possible—-or if it were, I’d probably end up fainting) or running across the street to Starbucks where a single bathroom awaits me to use in my own solidarity. (And yes, I’d even use that one, although it’s utilized by both males AND females, which is an issue on its own.)

I remember a pastor once telling us youth group students (back in those days where first generation pastors shamelessly shared with us all kinds of bathroom stories… Of course they had to be Korean) that he loved brushing his teeth while his wife was right next to him taking a poop! Okay, I’m not married (yet). But I can say, with confidence, this much: No husband of mine would ever dare step foot in the john whilst (I’m) in the middle of something less than pretty… Or there will be real war.

Written by: leaner on September 18, 2008.