Ever notice in the battle for equality of the sexes how one gender comes out more equal than the other? When it’s your gender, it’s alright because it’s a needed exception, when it’s not, the difference is dramatic.
Take for instance the time my wife and I visited a church, and we both had to use the restroom. She was not just motioned to the doorway a mere 15 feet away, but they offered her free transportation, and if that wasn’t good enough, they’d call out for a construction crew to move the entrance closer if she’d like. Meanwhile, my own directions involved several hallways, climbing through a broken window, descending a rickety staircase, traversing a labyrinth, and fighting a dragon only to find the “Sorry, Out of Order” sign had been vandalized.
My wife describes her experience as two doormen holding the door for her, in which a red carpet guided her into the gilded waiting room. There were rocking chairs, benches, cable television, and 5.1 Dolby Surround Sound for the church service. Beyond the oak laden walls which were filled with shelves of hand crafted reading material, was the actual bathroom decored in fine marble and tapestries depicting the Ascension of Christ woven by John himself while on Patmos. Soft music was piped in, along with the aroma of rose petals. Each seat was made out of china and was prewarmed by infrared laps suspended from the ceiling above. Instead of toilet paper, an array of silk worms spun the softest cloth. A waitstaff was there to wipe one’s bum, and if constipated, will even go for you. When my wife returned, she had made several new friends, explaining that they had met over the intercom system that granted total privacy, if desired, but was quite useful for party lines — each stall had it’s own extension.
I, on the other hand, had a communal trough in the center of the room with rancid water slowly swirling around. A hole existed in the floor at the far side of the room. There was no sink, paper towels, or toilet paper. Suffice it to say, socks can serve a number of useful purposes when one is pressed.
But women don’t get it — it’s like group urination is a social event that can’t be missed.
Men, on the other hand, have to abide by: The Protocol.
Women, here’s your chance to get a good look at what goes on inside the mind — and bathrooms — of men. Pay attention; should you ever decide to get a sex change, you’ll need to know these things, because rarely will someone ever explain them.
Inside a men’s bathroom are usually three urinals, and if you’re lucky, there are dividers — often not. This poses the technical problem of trying to obtain privacy while surrounded partially naked strangers. Each person can’t go because of the anxiety caused by the presence of the person next to them — now you see why we return so quickly.
The presence of another person invokes the proximity rule. You need to be close enough to not allow a good view of the thing sticking out, but you don’t want to be so close that you get back spray. Years of training allows one to control the rate of speed, based upon the distance from the urinal and the curvature of the drain. This is why men don’t let toilet lids slam — even a slight startle causes a contraction that ricochets the wrong way and wets your knees.
There’s a sense of empathy for the older men who don’t even try anymore. Some will go right up to the urinal, hug it, almost crawling in. Others go into a police-frisk stance. Some hang on for dear life, making that wheezing sound like all they’re getting is dust and air coming out. It’s the men that like to repeatedly flush while jiggling themselves that whig me out; it’s like they’re trying to teach their member by example. Arrogant pee-ers have no place; these are the ones that stand proudly like Superman, one fist on each hip, and pretend they are putting out a Colorado forest fire. All in all, the exceptions are few, but when you see one of these tale tell signs, that’s when you Break the Protocol and use a stall instead of a urinal.
Of the three stalls, the one at the end is usually the handicap one — instead of being crotch high, it’s small and a foot or two off the ground. I guess people got tired of holding up midgets.
The first person who enters has totally free selection, but part of The Protocol says that you are to always avoid eye contact, conversation, and proximity. Thus, one usually takes the end urinal.
The second person to join though is faced with a dilemma: wet socks from the tiny toilet or encroach on the other occupants’ territory?
If you guessed wet socks, you’d be right. The Protocol stipulates that two men voluntarily peeing next to each other is a threat to both’s manhood. Wet socks can easily be covered up by turning on the sink faucet too quickly, adding additional overspray, which one then blames on building maintenance.
Only upon the entrance of a third person is it permissible to be elbow to elbow, yet under no circumstances what so ever are first names ever used. In a bathroom, especially a public one, even long lost dearly reunited brothers will deny knowing one another. Discussion is forbidden.
The Secondary Clause to The Protocol is based on the fact that not all people finish at the same time. In fact, the two end guys may high tail it outta there, leaving one person in the dead center when you enter the room. Waiting is not an option, as men first of all don’t like to be in the restroom more than absolutely necessary, and secondly, one doesn’t want to get accused of watching another guy go, even if from the back.
At this point, it is the direction of the sinks that matter, believe it or not. Whichever direction they are in dictates the direction the current user is going to rotate. This lets you know which side to go on, and thus adhere to the primary rule of avoiding eye contact.
At this point, the cycle resets itself to a predictable state, and thus it is this that accounts for men being able to get in and out so fast.
There’s another aspect of sociology that plays an important role. Ventilation systems seem to be an unnecessary perk for men’s bathrooms; the expense saved is used on the lavishments within the women’s prime real estate.
We’ve all seen the woman’s line extend to the vanishing point. The problem is, the accommodations are so lush, that after having stood in line for so long, women actually slow down once inside, take their time, as if staking out their claim. Sure, it takes the same amount of time for both genders to go, but there’s a self-fulfilling prophecy going on: it takes so long to get in, that the female visitor is reluctant to give it up so quickly.
In fact, you can observe this phenomenon yourself, no matter what your gender. Wait for a lady to leave a grocery store, get in her car, and start her engine. As she is walking to her car, turn on your blinker signal as if waiting to take the parking space she’s about to vacate. Watch. Her pace will slow, and once in the car, a rigorous primping ceremony will begin. Anything that delays the departure. For, as you see, she earned that parking space — and it will be up to her to decide when she’s done with it, regardless of public demand. And so it is with the lines to the restroom, only compounded.