I hate going to the office restroom, or any other public restroom for that matter. I didn’t have this aversion when I was a kid. I could pee anywhere! I’m not sure what happened, but somewhere in my 20s I began to feel intense anxiety when forced to use public facilities. I now live in a world where I have developed a complex ritual for using the restroom when I’m at work.
In my last job there was one restroom available for the entire company. The facilities included two toilets and two urinals. With this limited arrangement I had the opportunity to observe the various restroom habits of my males colleagues. I observed four different types of folks in the office restroom: Talkers, Non-Talkers, Washers and Non-Washers. The traits can be mixed and matched, as in the Talker/Non-Washer or the Non-Talker/Washer.
Talkers intrigue me. You’re at the urinal and they walk up, unzip and enthusiastically ask how you’re doing. For the love! Leave me alone! I’m using the restroom! I don’t want to engage in small talk while I pee. Non-Talkers are better, but there’s still the awkwardness of two people standing less than eight inches from each other, staring at a wall listening to the ambient sound. The urinal duet.
The Washer/Non-Washer issue is much more disturbing to me. Non-Washers are generally older. Non-Washers are also usually Talkers. They chat it up at the urinal and then they zip up and walk out. Amazing. I never knew that so many seemingly normal people do not wash up after. Learning this has made me even more of an obsessive hand washer, and has made me even more wary of Baby Boomers.
Being in a multi-level building for my current job has made it easier for me to avoid others in the restroom. Instead of one restroom there are eight. This brings me to my restroom ritual. I am on the sixth floor and the rest of my company is on the eighth floor. In order to avoid small talk I will usually go to the seventh floor restroom when I head upstairs for meetings. Eventually I noticed that others on the eight floor use the seventh floor restroom as well, so that has sent me downstairs. The fifth floor is locked, so I have to head down to the fourth. If someone is there I will go to the third floor. I get a lot of exercise walking the stairs. I guess my neurosis isn’t all bad.
Did I mention the Stinkers, the Farters and the Readers? Maybe next time.