ginny: on bathrooms


Really Julie?  Sigh.

I read once that as you get older you should never pass up the opportunity to use the bathroom.  Since I wasn’t “older” at the time when I read that, I just scoffed.  Now that I am older I see the wisdom in that statement.  My “just in case” bathroom trips have increased in frequency as the years go by.  As a matter of fact, as I am typing this on my iPad in the car we are on our way to the beach for the weekend.  Gary just asked me if we should stop at the rest stop.  I said no, but then I thought another second and said “That’s the wrong answer, isn’t it?”  We stopped, I went, and all was right in the world.  This is totally too much information.  I think I’ll have another go (see what I did there?) at it.


I hate cleaning bathrooms.

I have nothing to add to that statement.  Take three.


When I was in the rest stop bathroom stall – don’t worry, this isn’t going where you think it is – I heard two teenage girls talking by the sinks.  It was typical teenage girl conversation, but it reminded me of all of the weird conversations I have heard in bathrooms.  Sometimes really loud conversations.  When I was writing the blog on listening I was going to put in a piece about these girls that were in the bathroom at the movie theater a couple of weeks ago.  They were SO LOUD.  Overwhelmingly, inappropriately loud.  I recognized them from the movie I had just seen because they were sitting in front of me … talking loudly before the show started.  I wondered why people talk that loudly, if they are trying to top each other, or if they think that what they are saying is of interest to everyone within a mile radius, or if they just have no idea what they sound like.  Anyway, out of the movie theater bathroom and back to the rest stop bathroom.  The girls were chit-chatting this and that, when out of the blue one of the girls said.  “I have such long arms!  Freakishly long arms!  They’re as long as my dad’s arms!”  I was coming out of the stall right then and it was all I could do not to shriek in horror and say “Your arms ARE freakishly long!  That is exactly what I thought when I first saw you!”

I’m not truly mean.  I just wanted her to hear how absurd that sounded.  As if anyone looking at that beautiful young girl would first judge her by the length of her arms.  But I kept to myself, washed my hands, and went on my way.  While it is not unlike me to engage total strangers in random conversations, I thought she wasn’t quite up to being approached in a public restroom.

I almost went off on a tangent here about another conversation I butted into in a grocery store line, but I am determined to stay on subject here, regardless of how much I don’t want to write about bathrooms.

The cleanliness of a bathroom is a pretty good indicator of a restaurant’s overall quality.  This is something which, while I didn’t exactly learn it from my husband, has certainly been made a major consideration in determining whether we return.  When I was in the restaurant business oh so many years ago, I don’t remember cleaning the bathrooms, possibly because of the aforementioned dislike of cleaning said rooms.  Possibly it was one of my sideworks, but there is a chance I skipped that part.  Sorry Julie.

Ugh.  I don’t want to write about bathrooms.  What in the world was Julie thinking?  What is she writing about bathrooms?

Some random thoughts about bathrooms:

When my daughter was a little girl I was convinced that she wanted to visit every bathroom in every restaurant we ate in, but she waited until the food either was just about to arrive or had arrived before she made her announcement.

I once caught the children of a guest to my Christmas party going through the cabinets under the sink in the bathroom.  This was after they had been throwing billiard balls in the basement and drawn on the billiard table.  They were escorted to their dad, who was told they couldn’t leave his sight.

I have used the men’s bathroom at a concert.

I believe that all public restrooms should be unisex.  Put the urinals behind a wall and be done with it folks.

I almost laughed in a bathroom at work years ago while hearing the longest stream of pee I have ever heard coming from the stall next to me.  It was as if that woman hadn’t peed in a week.  I couldn’t look her in the eye for a long time after that.

If I were a bear, the answer would be “yes”.  Bathrooms are nice, but not always necessary.

Most people who read this probably already know this fact, but the wall of my half bath is covered with photographs.  Here is a photo of it:

You can put only so many photos in frames, and photo albums don’t get looked at that often.  What better place to wander through memories than on the toilet?

Okay, since I’m here in Virginia Beach for the Rock N Roll Half-Marathon, which I won’t be running this year for the first time in over ten years, I have to tell you my port-a-potty story.  Those of you with weak stomachs are welcome, and even encouraged, to stop reading here.  As always, thanks for taking the time to read my blog.  WAIT – before you go!  I want to remind everyone that Julie and I are taking suggestions for topics.  If you have something that you would like to hear our thoughts on, please either leave a reply or email one of us at our regular email addresses that you may already have or you can use our fancy either Julie or Ginny email addresses.  Please.  Don’t make me write about bras or bathrooms again!

So last year I was running the half marathon, and as is my modus operandi (is that how you spell it?  I’m not going to Google today) I had to pee about two miles into the race.  Apparently many people are so afflicted, but fortunately the race organizers put port-a-potties at that spot.  There were four stalls and about fifteen people, so I figured it wouldn’t be but so long.  Tick tick tick … a lot of time went by without much headway.  I started watching the stalls and I realized that people were only going in and out of the ones on the end.  Either two people were in serious intestinal distress or the people at the head of the line weren’t aware that there were empty stalls.  I called up to the front and asked the first person to check it out.  She did, and one stall was empty.  Seriously people?  We have a race to run here!  The next person in line opened the other stall and quickly shut it.  She said “I’m not going in there!  That is gross!”  Nobody moved.  I took a step forward and asked if anyone was going to go for it.  Nobody moved.  I opened the door and saw the grossest diarrhea all over the  seat.  ALL over the seat.  Fortunately it was seat you could put up, so I did.  Then I squatted like the good bear in the woods that I am, did my business, and went on my way.

And that’s all I have to say about bathrooms.

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