Battle of the Loo

I’m the type of person that, often to my relationship detriment, is constantly competing. I compete as I’m driving, bargain shopping, selecting produce at the store, even against my roommate for things as trivial as who leaves for work first in the morning (a race I nearly always win but the times I don’t have been known to ruin entire mornings as I sulk into my cubicle with a defeated travel coffee). Sometimes, the competition comes in the form of races or time trials against myself– how quickly can I get from my desk to the office bathroom? Can I take fewer steps and also improve my time? Can I hold my breath the entire way? The result of these challenges has often been simply a very awkward looking girl in the back hallway from my office to the restroom taking quick, elongated steps, pale from not breathing.

I decided it was time for a new sport, and to up the ante even. What has seemed to take roots lately has been a “me against the office complex” challenge centering on… the first-floor community bathroom, my mini battlefield. Allow me to offer a sketch of the course of play. This is a fairly standard six-stall community restroom. The first five stalls are standard size, and the last is handicapped. We’ve got auto-flush toilets and no courtesy music. Sinks are auto, and despite everything else being automatic, we have paper towel hand dyers, no air dryers. It’s state government, so we’re not talking frills. I think you can guess where this is going; the object is to get in and out undetected. If you’re a guy, you might not get it. The ladies know what I’m sayin’.

Each game commences with the pushing open of the heavy bathroom door. It feels like a freshly dealt hand of poker upon each entrance. Your fate of the game is hinged upon the contents. I’ve crafted a few solid approaches to navigate any situation.  

You enter at the same time as another go-er (if it’s a coworker, disengage. This only applies to a stranger).  You both settle into your respective stalls. There's always that awkward silent moment. The other might rattle with the tp, or shift their feet, perhaps even a long sigh. Your hope is that they get in, get out and leave you in peace. However, there are times that they too want to be left in peace. It’s in this instance that you’re forced to engage in a stall-down.

It all depends on the urgency of the situation, but in my experience, you can almost never wait these people out. They are government employees and I’ve found their threshold to return to their desks to be much higher than mine. Leave and come back.

You enter to find a squatter, and by the position of their feet, they’re not planning to vacate any time soon. Depending upon the look of the shoes, you may or may not be able to draw them out of their stall by sink activity and clicking of makeup to kill time. Following etiquette (they arrived first), you must defer to them. Your choice is either skilled auto-flushing, or to simply leave and come back.

You find the place empty. You not only have your choice of stalls – a great position to be in – and you also have first right of continuance. Act fast, since time is limited. In an 11-story building, the bottom level restroom is rarely empty. I almost always select the handicapped stall at the end, lovingly referred to by others in my office as “the apartment.” If you’re able to get in and out without disturbance, you’ve won.

I could keep going, but think perhaps I should save some matters to the imagination. Maybe it’s a little late for that… oh well. Game on, suckers.