Everybody Poops

men's room

I will never understand how some people - adult, presumably self-sufficient people with employment and friends and family - are so bad at utilizing restroom facilities. I work at a technology company, in one of several tech support departments located in that part of the building. Everyone who works here is, to apply stereotypical thinking, at least slightly smarter than the average bear. Yet without fail, someone has destroyed a stall in a manner that would cause you to burn your house down if it happened in your home.

According to the internet, humans urinate 5-10 times a day, and defecate 1-3 times. Let's say 8 and 2 times a day, and say that a number one trip averages out to 5 minutes with hand washing and a number two trip to 10 minutes with hand washing and soul searching and self-recrimination.

By Gladwellian law, you are not an expert at restrooms until you're 27, which slightly undermines the point I'm trying to make. Or it would, if it wasn't such a simple activity. Forget Malcolm Gladwell, that hack (I'm sorry, Mr. Gladwell. I think you're brilliant). You should have this down pat by the time you hit middle school. It's peeing, not structural engineering.

Men have it slightly more difficult than the ladies, in that we have to aim. Fortunately for us there are cleanup supplies provided right there. How I wish my fellows would use them.

Also, can we talk about the noise-making? Don't help. You're going to make some noise with no effort, but (butt. Heh.) that's not what I mean. The grunting and moaning. Can you not do that, please?

Remember when you were a kid and someone would say that someone told them if you swallow watermelon seeds a watermelon would grow in your stomach? And you pretended you didn't believe it, but you kinda did a little, right up until you took an intro to biology class in college and found out that your gut is essentially a flesh-bag of acid and there's no way a delicious melon could grow in there because there's no sun or dirt and also a lot of acid? If you did somehow grow a watermelon in your stomach and now need to get it out, that's the only excuse for this behavior. Also, bravo on your green thumb. (Green uvula?)

In a similar vein, I was convinced that I was going to be murdered by a coworker in the restroom one day. I'm sitting there, minding my own business, probably playing some dumb iPhone game and running down the clock, and suddenly I hear a voice. Now, mind you, as far as I knew, I'm the only soul in there. It was empty when my bathroom workday began. Now a voice is talking vehemently and not quietly about his frustrations. Which means not only does this coworker talk to himself like a crazy person in the bathroom, but he snuck in to do it.

"Oh god," I thought, "This is how it's going to end. I'm going to be murdered on a toilet. Like Elvis, but not as famous and not as funny a story. Did I eat corn yesterday? Oh, please don't let me have eaten corn."

I was not murdered, in case you were worried. I was scarred for life, and now must wear noise-canceling headphones in any restroom I might need to enter. This will inevitably lead to my stabbing murder in the shower, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.

Speaking of technology, how great is it that bathrooms are equipped with wifi now? Back in the day you had to have a book or a magazine or a cereal box to keep yourself entertained. Now we can Star Wars Flappy Angry Bird the Rope our way to relief.

Man, the future is awesome.

Edit: If Weird Al's reading this, and I assume he is, don't you think the world's ready for the REM parody "Everybody Poops"?