A funny thing happened in the men’s room
Men have an odd social regimen when reliving themselves in a public restroom. I’m sure you have heard comedians tell the jokes before or read it elsewhere, but guys are pretty uptight when it comes to pissing around other guys. Yes, the stories you have heard are true. We NEVER talk to one another when using the stalls. Out of TP? Just suffer in silence pal and don’t even think about asking the guy next door, that is what you get for not checking first. Standing shoulder to shoulder at the urinals? You look forward; never make eye contact with the person next to you. Better yet, strategically position yourself such that you won’t have someone next to you.
Yes, men are strange. We know this and are ok with it.
Now a week or so back, after spending a sinfully good weekend together, Matisse and I took a trip to the local Russian spa to try and soak out some of the debauchery out of our system and generally enjoy the last few hours of our weekend alone. So there I am in the men’s locker room changing out of my street clothes. The place is pretty busy for a Sunday night so we are all jockeying about as move to get in or out of our respective lockers. As with restrooms, locker rooms adhere to an implied, yet universally held, “no talking, no eye contact and NO TOUCHING” policy amongst men. As I was changing these two guys, oh about my age maybe a bit younger, were in the final stages of getting dressed to leave. Thing was, one of them was blow drying and styling the other’s hair as he sort of hummed a tuneless song. Perhaps this was a new haircut, judging by the still harsh color of the highlights in the guys hair, or perhaps he just travels with his own personal hair stylist. Either way, there they were. As casual as could be, styling each other’s hair. I shrugged my shoulders and went on with my business. Perhaps it is a Russian thing, or maybe a gay thing or maybe a gay Russian thing. Who knows.
This would have been a passing thing, save for afterwards when we left the spa in search of food. Stopping in at one of our favorite Capitol Hill haunts, a all night diner that has what could best be called “a colorful clientele”. Stopping off in the men’s room after dinner I’m minding my own business at the urinal. Now I think I’m alone until I hear this croaking voice from behind me. “can you untie this for me?”
Turning my head I see no one.
“huh?” I ask to the empty room
“You, with the boots. Who sent you?”
I quickly realize that the voice is coming from inside the locked stall behind me.
“excuse me?” I say a bit louder and in a more cautious tone.
“WHO SENT YOU!” boomed the voice from behind the particle board wall.
I should mention that Capitol Hill still has a pretty serious drug and vagrant problem and the voice in the stall was probably pissed off at me for interrupting his makeshift shooting gallery.
I should also mention that I really had to pee and when men start the flow… stopping it is really not an option.
While I was not worried about an altercation with the unknown person in the booth, to quote the movie Brick. “You sure you want some of this? I’ve got all 5 of my senses and full nights sleep.”
I was not too partial to an altercation mid stream, as it were.
Thankfully the room remained awkwardly quiet for what had to have been the longest piss of my life. I thought for sure that my kidneys had chosen that precise moment to implode.