I am inexplicably fascinated with bathrooms.
I never noticed when I was growing up, but Chanterelle has begun to point out my pit-stop comments. I always have them.
Usually I comment on the cleanliness, the decor, or the efficiency of the layout. No, seriously! Every bathroom gets a report card.
Since my first day at City College San Francisco, I have made it a point to try a new one every day. There’s just something about knowing you’re using the best bathroom around. Usually the best get the least traffic. That’s a part of what makes them the best.
I can tell you, for instance, that the best bathroom in the Cologne Station Backpacker’s Hostel is on the fifth floor, right next to room 514. The best bathroom in SFO airport is in terminal 3 attached to the arrivals lounge.
See? It’s a serious obsession.
So when my class ended today at City College, and I felt the urge, I decided to try the one in the Creative Arts Extension building, next to room 170.
It was small, but some of the best ones are. There was another guy standing by the kid’s urinal. For the ladies who might not know what these are: it’s smaller, narrower, and lower on the wall than the standard men’s urinal. Kids never use them, they usually choose the stall. Some men won’t stoop so low (figuratively) as to use it, which gives us less picky men our own VIP line.
As I walked in, the guy who was standing there moved to the full-sized one to the left of the kid’s. He must have been window shopping. I looked around for another, but those were the only two.
I shrugged and approached the sacred pot. I unzipped and prepared to fire, as did the man next to me.
While I was waiting for my bladder to wake up, I stared at the wall. This is what you do. If your eyes shift to the side for even a moment, you’ll be shot. Seriously, snipers are paid big bucks to hide in the stalls and take out peepers. Don’t believe me? Your funeral.
Peripheral vision is hard to deactivate though, and I became gradually aware that the urinals were only about 8 inches apart, with no divider. This meant there was less than three inches between my left hip, and his right. I had never been that close to someone and tried to pee, so it surprised me when 30 seconds passed without a drop.
I cleared my throat. The man next to me also had a drought. The conversation with myself began then.
Er…what do we do now?
Do we just wait? It has to come eventually…right?
…do I even have to pee?
Should I say something? Make a joke? Maybe I should grunt or something.
Maybe he’s waiting for me to leave. Maybe I should. There are other bathrooms, and I did kind of barge in on him.
Screw that. This is a public space.
Okay, it’s been a minute and a half. Nothing’s gonna change. I’m packin’ up.
And I did. And, at the same time, so did he. We both turned, without flushing, and nearly ran into each other. I mumbled an apology, and eventually reached the door. I took a final morose glance back in the directional of the urinal. The man was determinedly trying again! I left.
Suffice it to say, I’m not going back. I’ve taken my business to a wonderful retro-style bathroom in the computer-tech building. It has urinals galore, clean stalls, and enough paper-towels to make a mummy costume.
Hopefully you laughed at that… 
