I have a phobia I very willingly admit to.
One that I’m sure others have but refuse to tell anyone about.
It doesn’t involve elevators, escalators or turkey farms.
It’s about public restrooms.
Whether they be in the workplace, an airplane, a restaurant or amusement park. I simply will not use them. No matter how “bad” I have to go.
Many a time I have suffered in the car after drinking four cans of ginger ale on a two hour flight while my bladder wants nothing more to do than empty itself before I reach my ultimate destination. You may be asking why one would put themselves through such torture.
It’s a case of the shys.
Pee shy to be exact.
Ladies, you have it easy. Your public bathrooms feature cubicle-like retreats where you can simply hike up your skirt or drop trou and water in private. Us guys have to belly up to a wall of urinals, often times without dividers between them, only to whip it out and let nature take its course.
Many men have no problem with this. They simply unzip, let out a few “oh’s,” scratch their back and start a conversation with the guy next to them. I’ve tried it. The water could be ready to flow over the dam until that very moment when I step up to the porcelain edifice nailed to the wall and then nature decides the time isn’t right. So for a few uncomfortable moments I stand there thinking about running water, a dripping sink, a downpour, anything to start the waterworks, but my efforts are in vain.
So why not go into a stall and use the toilet?
The answer is, “it makes noise.” And who wants to be “that guy” who uses the toilet to pee when there are four urinals and no waiting.
There have been times when a great evening has been cut short because Mother Nature decided to interrupt my plans. That’s ok, I’ve learned to accept it and those I cavort with know about my sensitivity to public waterclosets and just roll with the flow.
It’s not easy being pee shy, it’s even harder trying to figure out why I just devoted 20 minutes of my life to writing about it.