Today, I found myself in line, waiting for a toilet. A weak stomach makes this a common occurrence. There was nothing interesting about my wait. I simply stood there, waiting my turn.
I experienced a similar situation a few weeks ago. I was waiting in line at a cafe, bored. At the table closest to the bathroom, sat two blonde twenty-somethings, talking about a potential trip to Europe. I eavesdropped, though I did not find their conversation interesting.
These examples might lead you to conclude that toilets are never interesting or fun. This is false. I’ve found myself confidently strutting my way into luxury hotels in NYC, expressly to use their facilities. These always make me feel like a king; luxury accessible with only a little bit of chutzpah.
I have also been pleasantly surprised. On a trip to Copenhagen, I found myself in Hojbro Plaza. I needed a restroom. Luckily, there was a public one underneath the plaza. I walked down the stairs, and was greeted by an unexpectedly ornate facility, complete with an attendant. While the entire trip was great, this restroom is the most memorable part.
But my favourite story involving toilets occurred in Jaffa.
I had gone out for dinner with my family and girlfriend. The restaurant we went to was bustling. The restaurant, which also served as a hugely popular bar, spilled out onto the street, with large tables to accommodate all its customers. At the time, my stomach was in even worse shape than it usually is. We had sat down at one end of a big table and ordered, when I decided that this was an opportune moment to go to the toilet.
I went inside. The music and noise were much louder here. I climbed the restaurant’s stairs to the toilets. In front of the two stalls was a bench to wait on, already occupied by three people. Great, I thought, my stomach unhappy. I waited.
There were two stalls, each with full-length doors and a sink inside. One freed up, and the first person in line went in. We are moving, I thought, but not fast enough.
The same stall opened, the person inside done. The two men in front of me proceed to both go into the same stall. I was not fazed. They probably went in there to do drugs. After all, this was a hip bar in Jaffa. But then, before I had a chance to fully process what had happened, the other door opened and one person walked out. When the second person came out of the stall, I found it interesting. When the third person came out, I grew concerned. When the fourth emerged, I went into a state of shock. It made no sense. You might think that it was a spacious stall. It was not. Other than the toilet, there was just enough room to stand in front of the sink. Once inside, I looked around; maybe there was a secret passageway, some tiles that could be moved to reveal a bigger room. If there was, I did not find it.
It does not bother me that four men shared a stall. It bothers me that they fit. They were not small people. They were not circus performers. The math does not work.