Collective Dissonance

There are many vile and disgusting things in this world. Some things are naturally worse than others, but I think the gas station bathroom is close to the top of that list, for it presents a minefield of dangerous obstacles to brave and overcome.

I was on the return leg of my road trip today when I stopped to fill up the gas tank and have a wee before the last two hours to the apartment. I chose a gas station I’ve stopped at before, it’s about ten miles outside of the last major town, and it’s across the street from a 7 Eleven where I know the bathrooms to be quite vile and disgusting. The 7 Eleven bathrooms will even sell you various super ribbed condoms flavored with banana coconut studded surprise for 75 cents, as you stand in a puddle of regurgitated toilet water, clearly the sign of a classy establishment. Either way, it’s a bathroom I’ve learned to avoid, so I stopped in across the street.

I walk in and to the back of the store to the creepy little hallway where they keep the bathrooms out of public view, and I push open the door hoping for the best. Things went downhill from there as I caught a whiff of the first scent of pine fresh scent that only a gas station can offer.

I quickly take stock of the situation as I walk in. Both stalls are occupied, presumably by children and a father that have slung their coats over the stall door, possibly as a sign of their presence in the confined space of privacy. Kind of like a Nikes strung over the powerlines kind of thing. This distresses me greatly, as I am a stall pisser. I don’t generally like to stand out in the common area of the bathroom taking a piss waiting for Big Earl to walk in and straddle the urinal next to me.  I prefer the confines of the stalled toilet where I can handle my business in peace, and with the privacy a nervous pisser needs.

Yes, I am a nervous pisser. I don’t like to piss when other people are around, especially when they’re making noise. I don’t know why, but it throws me off entirely. I need to be in my own world when I pee, or else things just don’t happen.

So, the stalls are occupied, but there are two urinals attached to the wall right next to the sink. Keep in mind that a decent urinal will have a little divider thing between you, the urinal next to you, and the sink. Some urinals even have this built in where the porcelain extends out a few inches on each side so that Billy Dan has a harder time trying to sneak a glance. The urinals in this establishment had none of the such. No, these were urinals designed to simulate taking a piss in the great outdoors. Free, open, and unconfined. All that was missing was the tree and the John Deere tractor.

Free, open, and unconfined is fine when you’re alone, and there is no door allowing ingress for new participants in the sick little game. As a rather busy gas station, this would not be the case. This bathroom turned into the great outdoors, and everyone was invited.

I decided that I was going to grab the urinal near the sink as it was placed higher up on the wall, and as a rather tall person, it offered the possibility of a more comfortable urination process in an already difficult circumstance. Now comes preparation time.  A male in a situation like this normally has a second means of defense to the outside world: the fly. You unzip, take care of business, and zip back up and the only thing that comes out is the only thing that needs to be out to complete the piss. Not so for me, the road tripper wearing elastic waisted track pants, an essential item for comfortable driving. Oh no, I had to pull the front of these sons a bitches down and show the bathroom world the triangular area of fun, which includes…well, use your imagination. Again, this would be fine if I was in comfortable private piss land, but I wasn’t.

So I stand there, willing the piss to come out at an extreme rate of speed so I can pull up the pants, wash my hands, and exit the hell hole before anyone walked in or walked out, because I was definitely in full view of someone with misplaced eyes, or a Republican politician looking for a good time. I don’t want to paint the picture that I was someone who was standing eight feet away from the urinal, pants down and arcing my piss into a urinal. Rest assured, I was as close as I could comfortably get to the urinal.

By some stretch of fate I manage to defeat pee shyness and push out a liter of fluid before the status of the bathroom changes. I pull up the pants, wash the hands, and blow dry them. Of course there are no paper towels, so I have to use the sleeve of my hoodie on the handle to open the door to freedom.

I realize I could have had it a lot worse, and believe me, I have. I’ve walked in on countless toilets frequented by people who apparently lack the ability to shit downward into the toilet, instead choosing to shit everywhere BUT the toilet. I’ve had the honor of standing in puddles of piss in order to take a piss. Oh, and don’t forget the asshole who lacks the ability to flush, and leaves the surprise of five pounds of shit and toilet paper inside the fixture you were about to do business with. This doesn’t even have to include gas station bathrooms, as college bathrooms are notoriously bad as well.

I know the pay toilet idea has yet to catch on, but as a pee shy person with an unrealistic vision of bathroom utopia, I’d pay a dollar to take care of business in a clean, sanitary environment.

I shall wait with bated breath for the bathroom revolution.