From the Mens Room
It's a shame I feel it necessary to sink to this level, but I don't think many females in today's workplace understand the issues men live with in the work environment. I know you're saying we get bigger paychecks, more promotions, better benefits, better opportunities, etc, but I'm guessing that there is one thing you don't have to put up with that we do. The mens room.
I know very little of what goes on in the ladies room other than two obvious things. First, they have pictures hanging on the wall. I have caught glimpses of framed pictures hanging on the wall just inside the door of the ladies room. We have no pictures. We have stains. One that looks like either Elvis or a funny car, we can't agree which. We're all professionals so there are no drawings in the stalls, only the occasional math problem.
The second thing I know about the ladies room is that the ladies have a tendency to slam the stall doors with vigor. They shake the walls. Men shake the walls, too, just not with the stall doors.
Contrary to popular belief, the mens room is not a good place to spend time. As a matter of fact I have requested that we officially change the name of our mens room to "Chernobyl". Exposure for more than 15 minutes at a time has resulted in hair loss, serious burns and blindness. I have also suggested that we just fill it in and move down a few yards to start over again. But my recommendations fall on deaf ears. Due to knowledge gained during my upbringing I have recognized the odor as being something akin to gutting rabbits. On more than one occasion upon exiting Chernobyl I have commented to the first passer-by I come upon, "Something bad just happened in there." They always keep walking.
You've probably heard that men can use the bathroom standing up. That's a rumor. Some men may be able to, but most just think they can. The majority of them use the floor. As the day goes on we have to stand farther and farther from the urinal. By quitting time it's like the Bellagio in there.
Okay, here's another mental image you probably could have lived without. Some of the fat guys have "line of sight" problems. In other words, there's a big ole stomach between their eyes and what they are trying to see. So in order to line stuff up, they get into all kinds of crazy positions. I can't explain all of them, but the simplest are probably the best. Some of them simply lean forward and start tilting until their head bangs against the wall, propping them up. Others will outstretch one arm, putting their hand against the wall, go up on their forward toe and then do a little hip thrust while holding their junk with the other hand. That's probably enough of that.
But there are some benefits. Remember James Taylor's song "Up on the Roof"? "When this old world starts to getting me down..." My office is on the top floor of our building. In the hot summertime when the rooftop airhandling units start running at full tilt, there is such a trememdous rumbling that you can feel the vibration in the floor in front of the urinals. There is even a pretty good breeze of air blowing down on your face from above. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and pretend I'm a lonesome hobo riding in a boxcar behind a load of cattle, peeing out the open door as we glide across the grasslands of Texas.
I know very little of what goes on in the ladies room other than two obvious things. First, they have pictures hanging on the wall. I have caught glimpses of framed pictures hanging on the wall just inside the door of the ladies room. We have no pictures. We have stains. One that looks like either Elvis or a funny car, we can't agree which. We're all professionals so there are no drawings in the stalls, only the occasional math problem.
The second thing I know about the ladies room is that the ladies have a tendency to slam the stall doors with vigor. They shake the walls. Men shake the walls, too, just not with the stall doors.
Contrary to popular belief, the mens room is not a good place to spend time. As a matter of fact I have requested that we officially change the name of our mens room to "Chernobyl". Exposure for more than 15 minutes at a time has resulted in hair loss, serious burns and blindness. I have also suggested that we just fill it in and move down a few yards to start over again. But my recommendations fall on deaf ears. Due to knowledge gained during my upbringing I have recognized the odor as being something akin to gutting rabbits. On more than one occasion upon exiting Chernobyl I have commented to the first passer-by I come upon, "Something bad just happened in there." They always keep walking.
You've probably heard that men can use the bathroom standing up. That's a rumor. Some men may be able to, but most just think they can. The majority of them use the floor. As the day goes on we have to stand farther and farther from the urinal. By quitting time it's like the Bellagio in there.
Okay, here's another mental image you probably could have lived without. Some of the fat guys have "line of sight" problems. In other words, there's a big ole stomach between their eyes and what they are trying to see. So in order to line stuff up, they get into all kinds of crazy positions. I can't explain all of them, but the simplest are probably the best. Some of them simply lean forward and start tilting until their head bangs against the wall, propping them up. Others will outstretch one arm, putting their hand against the wall, go up on their forward toe and then do a little hip thrust while holding their junk with the other hand. That's probably enough of that.
But there are some benefits. Remember James Taylor's song "Up on the Roof"? "When this old world starts to getting me down..." My office is on the top floor of our building. In the hot summertime when the rooftop airhandling units start running at full tilt, there is such a trememdous rumbling that you can feel the vibration in the floor in front of the urinals. There is even a pretty good breeze of air blowing down on your face from above. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and pretend I'm a lonesome hobo riding in a boxcar behind a load of cattle, peeing out the open door as we glide across the grasslands of Texas.
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