Cell phone conversations in the bathroom = bad.
Sanctuary in the 21st century is a hard thing to find. I won’t wax poetic about how the beeps and boops of computers, iPads, and personal sex robots are ruining society, because I don’t believe they are; I think they are actually pretty bad ass little gadgets. That said, a well-timed technology retreat does the body good, and when I’m hankering for refuge, I head to one of two places: the ocean or the toilet (and sometimes both at the same time), because for the money, the porcelain throne’s the only place that tops a session at sea…which is why my experience in the office bathroom last week was so infuriating.
It was about mid-day, and I had plowed through a few cups of coffee when I felt the need to relieve myself. As I approached the bathroom door I could hear a voice talking on the other side, and upon entering the lavatory, I was greeted by unmistakable evidence of a gentleman doing work on the bowl…and by that I mean it smelled like hot shit. I heard a few murmurs from his stall, and I wondered if he was talking to himself.
Then, as if on cue, Mr. Stinky-shits resumed his conversation. He was talking on the phone…while shitting…in an office bathroom. (My office bathroom hosts many companies, so I was unable to identify said individual. I probably had never seen him before, to be honest.). Now, I think it’s safe to say that talking on the phone while doing your business carries a certain amount of stigma with it. If you don’t believe me, call someone who is not one of your closest friends while you’re on the pot and when it comes time to flush, see if you don’t hesitate. We’re on the same page, yes?
(Quick side note: when catching up with a good bud who you don’t see that often, I’d actually encourage using time on the crapper for that call. It is proven to increase a bro-bond much the way watching porn together or drawing pictures of your feelings does. Some father’s also appreciate this move, but that is at your own discretion.)
As the door shut behind me, it became clear that the gentleman was making business moves (buy, sell, bull, bear, and the like…) and I don’t mind saying it: I was offended.
I must admit that I’ve conversed on the toilet before (see above), but only in private bathrooms. It seems this gentleman didn’t properly assess the risks involved. What if I had unleashed an earth-shattering fart? Or what if, God forbid, I was really straining and he had broadcast this very personal struggle over the 3G network? I didn’t consent to sharing that moment with Joe Salesman. I would never put another person in that situation; I’m just a good guy like that. So I decided to stop being a cowardly bystander and take action.
I approached the urinal with a zeal for peeing standing up that had been dormant in me since commercial breaks of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (I had to pee hard and fast enough to finish with enough time to grab a fresh Ecto Cooler juice box on the way back to the tube). I was going to pee as loud as I’d ever peed before and out this guy right here and now. Luckily, the urinals at my office are strange and old (I’ll spare you the details of the drainage system) and when utilized correctly they allow for some spectacular tinkle acoustics. My aim was true that day, and the person on the other end of the phone was almost certainly aware of what was going on.
“Hey, listen, you know what?”
The confidence in his voice had vanished. I had spooked him.
“Listen, I’m in a bad spot. Let me, let me get right…”
My stream remained strong and audible. Gone was the confident, crapping-and-talking businessman of moments ago.
“Yea, bad cell spot, bye.”
Sweet success! My ecstasy was soon met with disgust as the businessman clicked over to his other line:
“Darling, listen, sorry, I’ll, hey, can I just…”
His voice strained over the roar of my own personal Niagra Falls…but how!? I was still holding strong!
“I’ll call you back love, bye.”
He had a loved one on hold that whole time?! I was certainly on the side of good fighting evil! Karma decided to weigh in, too as right when he clicked end on his keypad, my bladder clicked end on my micturition. Feeling invincible, I shouted at the perpetrator’s stall:
“Let that be a lesson to you: Keep the phone out of the bathroom! Unless you’re texting, because as you may or should be aware, texting is entirely socially acceptable!”
And I walked out, head held high. Because in this fast moving, ever-connected, always shrinking world we must hold fast to our moments of peace and places of safety and quiet. Don’t mess with my ocean or my bathroom and I won’t piss on your phone call.
*The last part is untrue. I got out of that bathroom as fast as humanly possible. Any animal who leaves a loved one on hold while having a shit talk is not the type of man you want to stick around to meet. Also, I’m kind of a pussy.
