male behavior in restrooms

In my time interpreting this summer in DC I had the pleasure (or misfortune) of entering several government office buildings, passing through security checkpoints of all shapes and sizes, and attending atrociously boring staff meetings. And, as any trusty interpreter has a bottle of water by his or her side at all times, I also spent a great deal of time in public restrooms.

Male bathrooms are pretty standard: there are the urinals with pink deodorant cakes (internet search has failed to find a reason why they are pink, although I did learn that the average cake lasts 30-60 days), urinal dividers to keep those government queer boys' eyes from wandering (don't grasp, don't smell), and automated sensor-controlled water faucets that remind me of how I absentmindedly move my hands in front of my face during a 3-D movie.

The most notable features of the men's bathroom are the men themselves. What begins as a cold room of marble and porcelain suddenly becomes a territorial war zone to strut, parade, and celebrate our amazing ability to stand and perform an excretory function all at the same time.

Choice of urinal is the first objective when entering the restroom; men need distance when they are peeing, both to protect their sense of decency and to hopefully be out of earshot on the off chance that some passing of wind may blow during the rainstorm. Farting at the urinal is acceptable behavior; however, I cannot think of anything funnier on the planet.

The most amusing display at the urinal is how some men make it seem like such an extraordinary effort to undo their pants and remove the mayor from his office. Seriously- some men act like they're detracting an 80-pound python from some hole in the middle of the Amazon. It does not require that much pomp and circumstance to remove a (hopefully) flaccid pointer from its shaft. It's not like hoisting a cannon into position and preparing to fire!

What's worse is the "shake-off" that comes at the end of the urination. For some men, they make it look like a dog when it's just hopped out of a pool. That much abrasive shaking would kill a newborn baby, for sure. And that kind of movement is highly distracting and suspicious at the urinal (don't make me go into my stories about the train stations in Naples – ah!).

And last but not least, the washing of the hands. Oh wait- this doesn't actually happen. Sinks, soap, and towels are there merely for decoration and to appease the opposite sex.

Yes, it's true: men remove the pistol, fire, spin it around and slink it into its holster. And, sadly, they leave the restroom with gunpowder residue still on their hands.