Silflay Hraka

Carnival of Gamers #19 is up at Unfettered Blather and yours truly is included for his rant on World of Warcraft. Check it out.

Our departmental offices at work were recently moved from the second floor to the first floor and I don’ t like it. It’s not like I don’t like the new space. It’s a bunch of cubes and those are basically the same no matter where you are. I don’t like it because I’ve been forced to adapt my potty habits to a new men’s room.

I’ve been with News & Record for about nine years and for the whole of that time, I’ve been an upstairs bathroom guy. There are three men’s rooms upstairs and I’ve always had a preference for the one next to the snack machines. I don’t know why exactly. Part of the reason is obviously location. It was closer to my desk and thus easily accessible. Going to that bathroom also allowed me to multi-task and pick up a soda or other snack while I was out of my seat. It also just seems…cozier. It’s not too large or too small and it’s warmer than then men’s room across the hall.

I can’t be the only one that prefers that bathroom. It was much more heavily trafficked than the other two and someone always seemed to leave a newspaper lying around to help pass the time. It’s one of the perks of working for a newspaper. You always have reading material when you need it.

Well, most of the time. Now that I’m downstairs, newspapers seem to be in short supply. Supposedly there’s a stack right inside the entry doors but they’re always gone by the I go looking. There are always stacks of yesterday’s paper lying around but I’m a fairly regular guy. I’ve probably read all those already. And the downstairs bathroom is typically devoid of stray copies. It’s not that the downstairs people don’t read the newspaper. It’s just that they tend to pick up after themselves better.

Aside: that is one thing I appreciate about the downstairs bathroom. The people using it seem to be on the whole a neater group of people. I have yet to walk into the downstairs bathroom to be greeted by a smelly, unflushed urinal. That’s a problem in the upstairs bathroom. There’s at least one person up there that is waiting for their mother to come clean up after them. Or maybe they’re just afraid of touching the handle. Whatever their reason for not flushing, it pisses me off. (No pun intended.) It got so bad at one point that I wrote an anonymous poem and posted it above the urinal. Now that I’m leaving for Atlanta, I shed my anonymity and share it with you all.

A Urinary Tract

I know you now stare at the wall.
When nature calls, so do we all.

To help you while away the time,
I have composed a little rhyme.

Gentle reader, while you piss,
Pause a while. Consider this.

Listen whilst I spin a yarn,
For those of you raised in a barn.

You and I are all the same,
But there are some who have no shame.

There are those who, in a rush,
Do not take the time to flush.

Is it germs that they do fear?
Purell, I think, is the answer here.

Perhaps it’s water they hope to save?
I’ll flush twice to beat the knave.

I like to find the bathroom neat.
I don’t like piss upon the seat.

When I find the water yellow,
I am not a happy fellow.

Now I hope you get the gist.
Flush the pot after you’ve pissed.

Gentle reader, think of me.
Flush the John after you pee.

If you’re civil, then please show it.
Flush it for the Potty Poet.

The poem stayed on the wall for about two days before some ignorant no pot-flushing asswipe momma’s boy took it down. I printed another copy and appended the lines below.

Please leave this up for all to see,
So the bathroom will not smell like pee.

It stayed up for another few hours before the bed-wetting miscreant took it down again. I could’ve kept up the exchange but I decided my point had been made and let it go. It’s been better but not perfect since that episode. If I ever figure out the non-flushing poem-removing culprit, they are in for a very public Internet shaming. I already know several reporters with whom I will not shake hands because of poor hand-washing practices.

There was also a reporter that gave himself pep talks at the urinal when he thought he was all alone. I’m sitting there reading the paper one day and hear someone step up to the urinal to do their business. Next thing I know he starts talking to himself. He says: “I can’t think about that right now.”

I guess whatever he had on his mind was making it difficult for him to go. I dunno. I never asked him about it and he moved several years ago. I think he’s with the Miami Herald now.

But that’s all beside the point. The point is that I’ve had to adapt to a new bathroom environment, one that doesn’t include free, easily accessible reading material.

The downstairs bathroom also has four stalls rather than three. This makes it difficult to choose a stall when it comes time to spend quality time with myself. In the old three-stall environment, it was easy. You choose one of the ends and went about your business. If someone else came in they would, according to ancient, unspoken man-laws, choose the stall on the other end, leaving the middle stall as an unoccupied barrier between the two of you.

In the four-stall configuration, things don’t always work this way. The stall occupying the far end of the line is a handi-capable stall. It’s a little more spacious than the others. It doesn’t have the same coziness. The toilet is also higher and, at 5′9″, my legs tend to dangle a little. Because of this, I typically choose the stall right beside it and hope that other occupants will get the picture and choose the other end, thus keeping bathroom etiquette inviolate.

For those of you who aren’t men, men’s room etiquette requires that certain behaviors be maintained whilst in attendance to one’s business. For example, men are not allowed to speak to one another if one party is actually in the midst of aforesaid business. The exchange of head nods or other greetings is not allowable until both parties are clearly disengaged. This generally means that zippers are fully zipped and hands are being soaped.

Also, if there is more than one urinal and at least two urinals are occupied, eyes must focus at a spot on the wall directly in front of those engaged in relieving themselves.

Lastly, if there are more than two toilets in a row and one is occupied, you must either choose the toilet furthest from the current occupant or, if the middle toilet is occupied, find another bathroom. Only in the direst emergency is one allowed to occupy any toilet next to someone who’s already seated.

This last one seems to be the sticky point with the downstairs denizens of the News & Record. Whereas the upstairs bathrooms are frequented by reporters and sales people, mostly what you get downstairs is heavy-set IT guys with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the past few days, my personal quality time has been disrupted by these guys.

First there was the guy with the chronic mouth-breathing problem.  He sounded like Darth Vader and stood at the urinal for three minutes before starting the stream. I think maybe he was having trouble with his armored cod-piece. You never do see a zipper on that thing in the movies.

Darth wasn’t nearly as disturbing as Chewbacca though. Chewbacca has chosen the throne next to me two days running now. Why do I call him Chewbacca? Because of the wookie noises he makes as he does his business. If you’re going to go right next to me, fine, but do you have to make all those damned noises? I don’t know what he’s been eating but let’s just say a little courtesy flush would certainly be appreciated. As it is, I just had to fold my paper and wrap things up. My little slice of peace and serenity had been shattered.

Now it’s time for me to go again but I find myself a little anxious. What happens if this guy comes in and spoils my quality time again? I want to speak up and point out the open toilet two stalls down but speaking up violates rule #1 of the men’s room.

Maybe I’ll just wait until I get home. Or maybe I’ll just go upstairs and relive the good old days.