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{the men's room} darren thomas The irony of washing one’s hands after using the men’s room is that one then has to touch a minimum of three things, from the time that one finishes washing, that other men have recently touched right after they had their dick in their hands: the faucet, to turn off the water; a button or lever to release paper towels or trigger a blast of hot air; the handle of the door, on the way out. One could always use elbows for these tasks, but that could draw attention, something one always tries to avoid in the men’s room. The sound one least likes to hear in the men’s room is the sound of a man wiping his ass. There is a tremendous amount of suspense after the whispery tear of toilet paper from an adjacent stall, the clumsy shuffle of feet burdened by a pile of pants around the ankles. Silence. Any moment, any second, one feels his own sphincter tighten in anticipation. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A man exits hastily after urinating, fleeing the auditory visual, clamping the door handle with a palm damp with dick sweat. The configuration of a pair of urinals is confounding. There is one approximately 24 inches off the ground; the other hovers nearly twice as high. They are quite clearly designed for a father and his son. When there are not dividers between urinals, the objective is to stare straight ahead, crowd the opening of the urinal, and ignore the sloppiness of what is about to unfold. One could use the stall, but pissing into a toilet causes an obscene and unwanted cacophony of noise. The only other option is to post up at the urinal, in a wide stance, leaning slightly back, wear a smile of serenity, and boldly own every self-inflicted scar, every pig’s tail of a hair, the pasty color that is unique from the pasty color of every other dick in the room. Men’s room etiquette calls for a reverent silence until one has fastened his pants and stands at the hand washing station. Small talk in the stalls or urinals is highly discouraged. The men’s room is typically a field of liquid land mines. Because the tiles are always a muted gray, brown, or tan, it is impossible to guess the composition of these puddles. The best policy is to assume the worst. For this reason, it is essential that one tie one’s shoes prior to entrance and try not to imagine the bottoms of these same shoes trudging around the carpet in one’s own home. Men’s room inventors are the unsung heroes of the modern era. Men no longer wash their hands with granular soap or dry their hands on a cloth carousel of bacterial horror. Hands-free sinks, hands-free hand dryers, hands-free men’s rooms, a hands-free existence - these are the hallmarks of civilization in the 21st century. |
