Not your bog standard column
Let us openly discuss going to the bog. Is that a terrible thing to talk about in a newspaper? Yip. Probably. But even The Queen, and you, dear reader, must seat thyself upon a porcelain throne on occasion so here we are.
I ended up down an internet rabbit hole a while ago and stumbled across research claiming people spend an average of one hour and 42 minutes a week going to the toilet – almost 92 days over a lifetime. It also said men spent more time each week in the loo but only because they dilly-dally more than women.
Which of course means that we sometimes spend more time on the toilet or in a cubicle for reasons other than the usual bodily functions.
You might be finishing a book or a game on your phone, a common practice, I am told, but one I vehemently disagree with. You might want a little peace and quiet during a busy day in the office or a place to gently sob.
Perhaps you just think you might as well give it a go when the bus stops off in Ashburton en route to Timaru. I am old enough to remember when those automated Ashburton toilets were a big deal.
Public toilets, in particular, are home to a complicated dance. Forget all the ridiculous arguing about where trans people have a right to pee. For goodness sake, what do you think that’s going to do? Destroy humanity?
‘‘To Anyone Who Survived, We are pretty sure this happened because we let trans folks use the toilets. Yip. That definitely must have been it.
Lots of love,
The People Who Died in The Global Virus.’’
At the very least, we have come a long way from Ancient Roman public latrines, where one of the things they used to wipe themselves with was a sponge on a stick, which was shared by everybody.
I learned an early lesson in how to avoid embarrassment in a public restroom when I was about 10.
I was waiting for Mum in the Timaru cinema toilets. A complex biological process caused her to do a giant blow-off and while I may have thought this funny in the confines of our home, unfortunately a schoolfriend was queuing behind me.
The girl pulled a disgusted face and I was beholden to look equally as disgusted before slinking out of the waiting area and spending the rest of the film panicking I would be seen with The Phantom Farter, aka Mum. Had I been spotted, I was poised to disown her.
I believe this early situation led me to develop a keen sense of The Toilet’s Unwritten Rules.
Women are extremely polite and co-operative in public toilets. Peeing is simple. If you are confident you are only going to pass water, you may take a cubicle adjacent to anyone, flush, vacate, wash your hands, check your hair, lean in to the mirror and check any new wrinkles, then leave.
If you encounter another woman, you may catch her eye in the mirror and say hello.
Where things become complicated is the arena of audible gas, or something more substantial. At this point, using only telepathy, each woman must decide who will scarper first. Generally, the person who starts making rustling noises first knows they must wash their hands and leave the bathroom quickly to prevent any eye contact or possible identification.
I know little about men’s public toilet etiquette except from probing questions with male friends, although sometimes at concerts their queue goes faster so sneaking in is basically a woman’s legal right.
On entering a workplace or pub toilet, a man may give another man a cursory greeting. It is generally accepted a man will take position at the urinal furthest from the other bloke and employ the art of staring straight ahead, never deviating the eyes.
However vigorous or long the final shake is in the privacy of a man’s own home, the shake must be brief in a public space. He may pass comment on the game at a sporting fixture or mention the relatively attractiveness of someone they’ve noticed behind the bar. I am told a man may make an ‘‘ahhhh’’ sound once the pressure is relieved but I refuse to believe it.
One final note on reading material in the toilet.
Years ago, I asked a friend this very question and he said, ‘‘The day they ban reading in toilets is the day I stop defecating.’’
May I live to see this day. Better living everyone.