Scenes from a Bathroom

Rick is an idiot. I mean, a complete socially inept moron. He thinks he's so witty, smart and engaging which makes him more of a tragic character. Some of the crummiest things come out of his mouth. So, when I have to go, I try to avoid going when that idiot goes. Some people you just don't want to share piss time with. The bathroom can be a terrible place. It is a place where bad scent and senseless chatter meet.

Some time ago, both stalls were taken. I had just sat down, with a paper, to perform. The guy next to me was already installed in the stall next to mine. No troubles. He did not know who I was just the way it should be. No yapping, just dripping and splashing.

Sometimes I wish I can just put up a wall around me to shield me from the world whenever I wanted to.

Anyway, in comes Rick. He unsuccessfully tries to open both stalls. I hate when that happens. It puts pressure on you. The train doesn't always come on time you know. You need to ease into it and sometimes that takes time. Someone else walks. Rick begins to chat with him. Phew.

A few seconds later, literally one minute after he tried to open the stalls, he shouts "Come on guys. It doesn't take that long to shit!" As he tries to force the stall doors open like an impatient child.

I didn't want to say anything so as to not jeopardize my identity. The guy next to me, luckily, was finishing up. As he walks out I hear him say "You're a fuckhead." Rick responds "Shit faster next time and I won't bother you." He ended up staying in there 15 minutes. I know, because 15 minutes after I was done I realized I left my paper in the stall and went back to get it.

It was easy to know it was him him. I looked under and saw his ugly shoes. I can just imagine him sitting there with that empty head and stupid look. Just wasting. Too bad he can't shit himself into oblivion. That would be funny. I can't even describe how dumb he looks. It's so subtle it would take Michaelangelo or a Dada expressionist to draw it.

In my dreams sometimes, I find myself in a bathroom with literally 50 stalls. It is an impersonal one where the concept of Mu prevails and Paganini is playing. I head for the very last one so I can have some privacy. I also angle myself slightly to the right so that I increase my privacy. When I am done, I straighten out and find someone right next to me. 50 stalls and this one figure...staring. Sometimes, between the crack of the stalls, an eye is peeping in. Surreal stuff.

I think my dreams are trying to tell me that I am insane and that privacy is impossible in public places are not mutually exclusive. I insist though. While this may be true, I can at least defend against finks like Rick. The art of flushing toilets and keeping neat for the next person are long gone. With this loss, we can also surmise that common decency among the collective has been reduced to trivial meisms.

It's as if someone goes into the private stall and pisses all over the walls on purpose. "No one can tell me what to do because I am me! Ha, ha!" They are the ones, no doubt, who fill the toilet with so much shit it overflows with toilet paper turned yellow and brown. Some try to be a little better. They'll at least flush once but their stains are unbearable. It's always nice to go in and see light floating shit residue.

My inclination towards privacy is so intense that I won't come out if I know someone is there. I'll just wait. I just don't feel like doing the "Hey, how's it going" routine. This isn't Vaudeville for fuck sakes. The guys who don't wash their hands disgust me. I can just imagine their personal hygiene. I refuse to shake the hand of a person I know who doesn't wash their hands. Hey, you're talking to a guy who opens the bathroom door with a paper towel. There was a time when I stood around in the stall for 5 minutes as a congregation of colleagues decided to have a conversation in the bathroom.

Believe me when I say it was an absurd and utterly stark real moment. Like a silent Ozu film from 1920.

Some days I manage to not see Rick. I like those days. Ah.