I Have to Go, Number 2: Part 2 of XX and XY View of Bathroom Etiquette

In part two of our two-parter on bathroom etiquette, I’ll allow my good friend Justin to take the lead.

Justin Wright, 25 year-old male.  Stands up to pee.

Look, dick-piss-shit-fart jokes aren’t my style.  The following, like the Men’s room, is not for comedy.

When properly run, The Men’s Room is one of the last great examples of totalitarian efficiency that our still society has the pleasure of witnessing.  It’s beautiful, majestic, and simple, like a great big Brontosaurus, only the Brontosaurus isn’t being a dickhead.  Follow me on this journey as I point out completely reasonable things some idiots seem to have forgotten.


Stands up to pee.

Rule #3. When in Rome…

Sometimes you can get away with just about anything in a Men’s Room.  They’re foul, evil smelling places with sin all over the floor and fixtures.  When you’re in one of these, do whatever you want!  You’re a man.  You’re allowed to destroy things every now and then.  More importantly, you’re far closer to being a fucking animal than any girl you’ve ever met, so piss everywhere if need be.

Dive bar toilets – fuck ‘em.  These things are put in when the bar is first constructed and never looked at again by the management.  Once ever few years they burn the bar for no other reason than to destroy the evidence.  Good.  There are very few places in the world where it’s acceptable to be a hyperactive dickweed.  You earned it.  They’re subjugating your to a barn-like atmosphere screams, “let them eat cake,” only about pissing everywhere.  Proceed with elegance.

Workspace Rest Place – Look, if someone else is making evil in the workplace bathroom, I can’t go in.  I just can’t.  I know you, man.  I have to look you in the face, talk to you, regard your opinions, curse your name, but I can’t do these things if I hear you splashing around back there like a baby in the tub.  Sometimes you have to show restraint.  If that means you’re cowering in fear the second I walk in, then so be it.  I’m not tryin’ to stick around any longer than you want me there.  Trust me.  Keep your personal life at home, horrific poos included.

Your Friend’s Home – Depends on how much you like the friend, really.  But generally speaking don’t try and prove a point or anything.  Keep your filth in that bog you heathens call home.

Breaking the seal.

Sports Arena Bathroom – Oh my god these things are the best.  There’s nothing more fun than watching the brutal efficiency of a half-time pee break.  Every stall, urinal, trough or mouth of opposing fan is being mercilessly flooded with white hot beer piss.  We are men.  We have drank 10,000 beers.  It is time to do battle.  Avast! Have at ye, bubbles!

There’s something holy about the Sports Arena Bathroom.  The attitude is militaristic in its fraternity and discipline.  There’s drill-like precision in the timing of the whole thing, like pistons in an engine, only pissing.  Every man knows there’s a responsibility to get in and out as fast as humanly possible because the old men who don’t care that their bits and pieces are in full view have to keep watching the game.  They’ve been fans for a bajillion years.  They deserve your respect.  Ever see a dad bring his kid in during the seventh inning stretch?  That little bastard has no idea that his dad is just as excited about bonding with him about the game as he is to introduce him to trough-pissin’.


Kelaine Conochan, 27 year-old female.  Sits down to pee.

Rule #3.  Washing your hands is a status symbol

Interestingly, most of us don’t touch a damn thing in the bathroom.  We use our hips to open doors, elbows to lock and unlock stalls, feet to depress the flusher, and carefully wrap our hands in toilet paper to avoid any contact with something gross.

But if you want to be in this season, you need to wash your hands, ladies.  All the women are doing it.  Even in Paris, where they don’t even shower every day.  So, seriously, if you want everyone to notice you and say things like “Oh, she’s so clean” and “What fine manners,” you are going to want to wash your hands.

It’s not about getting rid of germs and staying clean.  It’s much bigger than that.  This is your Gucci, Fendi, and your Pucci.  If washing your hands is cool, consider me Miles Davis.

By the way, every office and circle of friends has a list of The Ones Who Don’t Wash Hands.  Don’t know about the list?  Then you’re on it.  Gross.


Stands up to pee.

Rule #4. Get in the Competitive Spirit.

The competitive spirit is my favorite part of the male restroom tradition because I am always going to be better than you.  Everyone thinks this, but fuck you, you sod.  You play ball like a girl.

When I go into Gentleman’s Room of Rest, I stride in purposefully because whatever it is I’m interrupting can’t be disturbed for more than the 45 seconds.  My belt is off 2 strides before I’m there.

A natural

The button and zipper are undone in one swift, fluid motion, like Ken Griffey Jr. golfing a low breaking ball.  The exact time I plant my feet and exhale, I count.  1….2….3….4…

Yes, I’m counting how many seconds worth of piss I have in me, how many seconds worth of piss I’ve been able to collect since the last time I was interrupted.

Ten seconds minimum.  I won’t waste my time with anything less than ten seconds.  If two gentlemen sidle up to the same row of urinals and start at the same time, you’d better believe it’s a race.  But it’s not for speed.  Oh, no.  It’s an endurance race.  Ultimately, the grizzled veterans will win these battles, for horrifying prostate reasons or otherwise, but sometimes after a night of drinking it feels like you could water the whole yard.  And it feels good.

My average time spent making evil is under 3 minutes and requires fewer than 3 wipes ever.  I pride myself in my efficiency.  I’m a machine.  Sometimes after I’ve washed my hands and rid myself of any embarrassment in too quick a time, I wash my hands even more in the bathroom so that any guests of mine at the dinner table don’t think I didn’t wash because, “there’s no way it was that fast.” Listen to me, sister.  It was.

Now you can’t be like me because you suck at this.  All my friends are swine and can’t control themselves when they eat, so they constantly have indigestion and fart like a group of Basset Hounds who got into the trash.  These people are idiots because they have to spend an unnecessary amount of time in the bathroom.  It’s not a nice place, and if you can’t control yourself, it’s your own damn fault you’re wallowing in the stink of others.  I’m better than that.


Sits down to pee.

4.  The 3 to 1 Ratio of time tossing hair/reapplying makeup to time in the stall

Going to the bathroom should be an experience.

Listen, in order to maintain our reputation for having longer lines and wait time before entering the bathroom, women like to abide by the 3:1 rule.  You can’t just go in-and-out, wham bam thank you ma’am.  Every trip to the restroom is another chance to become a better woman.  Do you have anything in your teeth?  Is your poof high enough?  A girl need some time for self-reflection!

For every second you spend in the stall, you should be spending at least three at the sink making sure you know how you feel about yourself today.  Think about it.  Maybe think about how feel fat, so you must look fat today.  Maybe consider what life would be like if you had Kim Kardashian’s hair.  Or ass.  But leaving on the fly is the only way to assure you won’t be looking fly.

Besides, if you don’t pull off the 3:1 rule, that just means that someone else will have to stand there for 6:1, and that’s just not fair.  We’re all in this bathroom together.

No, seriously, do you want to come with me to the bathroom?


2 thoughts on “I Have to Go, Number 2: Part 2 of XX and XY View of Bathroom Etiquette

  1. I found your blog a couple weeks ago… and I may have worked my way backwards through all your posts. Quality stuff!

    If I could add my own two cents on bathroom etiquette: Unless you have no alternatives, ALWAYS choose a stall AT LEAST one stall away from the next person. Some people at APCO are unaware of this rule and it really peeves me. There are 10 stalls, but you chose the one right next to me? I know we are creatures of habit and people have their usual spot, but this rule supercedes personal preference. Am I right, here?

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