Get off your Cellphone – I’m Voiding!

When I head to the bathroom, it's (usually) to purge my body of some foul smelling food byproduct. Sometimes this activity comes with free sound effects for all to enjoy. I never feel I'm being rude by farting loudly while standing at the urinal or generating mini-splashdowns in the bowl after a particularly spicy lunch.

I'm sure you share the same opinion: this is not a place to be reserved. After all, you're either whipping out an appendage or dropping trou' and venting your buttocks in a shared airspace..

So, what compels people talk on their cell phones while in the bathroom? Microphones are pretty sensitive and are bound to pick up all sorts of toots, blasts, splashes, groans, hocks, and any other sound I haven't yet imagined (or don’t wish to conjure up memories of).

And so it is with these thoughts in my head that I bring you into my life once again. A few nights ago, I was in the bathroom at a restaurant. A guy walks in while I'm at the urinal, and he's talking on his cell phone with some fancy Bluetooth thing on his ear. You'd think he could have waited outside for a bit to finish his call, maybe with a really creative line like “hey – let's talk later, I’m walking into the bathroom”? Noooo... Just walked right in while talking. And goes to the urinal next to me. So, I felt obligated to send a message to the person on the other end of this obviously life-critical discussion. I let fly with a loud, legato blast with a slightly wet ending (and I admit, shamelessly, that I arrived back at the hotel later to find that I had ever-so-slightly signed my underwear in Brown Dye #2).

If I were the one on the phone when this occurred (and trust me, I wouldn’t have been), I would have said my goodbye and hung up my damn phone. But no, not Mr. Chattenleak. He actually had the gall (or stupidity) to turn to me and say "Do you mind?" My first thought was to say something really cynical and four-letter-ish. Instead, I felt that another blast was the best way to convey my sentiment. Fortunately for me, my gas-passing skills are rather good, and I was able to conjure up another fantastic rip-on-demand, this time with a urine-splash ending. This resulted in the desired "I gotta go" response.

A few minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom a proud man, my head held high. I felt I had done my civic duty (haha – I said doody). I only wish I could have heard the poor soul's reaction on the other side of that ill-fated call.

What would you have done?

Wall Leaner Guy and the Nose Pick

In my daily travels to public restrooms, I see way too many people ignoring the sink, both for urinating and for washing. I forgive those who don't urinate there, but the handwashing part? Pretty nasty, considering you then grab the door handle to exit, leaving your cock's epithelial tissue (or maybe some fecal fingerprints) for all to share.

That said, what I saw the other day makes me shake my head in disbelief. This guy shows up at the urinal next to mine. I hear the zipper open, followed by a sigh that could only mean “relief has arrived.” He had a deep, almost pained breathing, like it was taking all his energy to piss. To add to the image in your mind: after (presumably) grabbing his cock and hanging it out, he raised his arm and propped his hand up against the tile wall, and bowed his head. Either he was checking himself out down there or he was really exhausted from going Number One.

What happened next was, um, repulsive? Wall Leaner Guy (my new nickname for him) lifts his head, peels his palm off the wall, moves his hand into position at nostril-level, and starts digging for gold. I thought the incredulous look on my face might have deterred him. But no, he forged ahead. I’m pretty sure he got his finger in up to the second knuckle. He twisted and curled his finger, obviously trying to claw out some well-shaped, slightly crusted fragment of mucous. He eventually succeeded, examining the fruits of his labor before flicking the now-rolled-up booger onto a nearby wall tile.

As he placed his palm back up against the tile, I turned toward my own tile wall, as I could not watch anymore. And I realize there were boogers clinging to the wall in front of me, as well as a few short hairs that could only have come from man-crotch.

You can probably imagine the conclusion I drew at this instant: Wall Leaner Guy is not alone in his strange fetish. And I’m sure you’ve already guessed the next thought I had: He just shoved unknown penis skin cells up his nose.

As I sit here retelling my eyewitness encounter, I’m left with more questions than answers. Did Wall Leaner Guy even realize he picked his nose, or was it an unconscious act? If he did realize it: did he also realize others before him may have done the same, possibly after grabbing their dick, balls, or pubes to free themselves from the sweaty confines of their underwear? And if he realized that, does he actually get off on the fact that he can secretly sniff a man’s junk, sniff it all the way into his lungs, walking around with foreign tubesteak skin buried deep within his body?

Lest you doubt the veracity of this story, just open your eyes next time you’re in the urinal and try counting the crusted boogers and curly hairs. And try not to gag.