Some of man's (and woman's) best thinking is done in the restroom. It is a usually a place of quiet solitude, where for a few brief moments we are separated from the outside world in a cocoon of isolation and scented candles … or maybe urinal cakes.
Many people take longer than they need to in this room-particularly at home-if for no other reason than to escape to rest of the world. Maybe they want to catch up on some reading. Or maybe they just want to "rest," as the room's name suggests we do.
Depending on the location - and particularly if you are a man - a restroom can be more like a torture chamber; a jail cell from which there seems no escape; a pit of despair and graffiti.
Women get to go to the "powder room," usually in packs, while men go to "the john" or "the head." Rumor has it that these female powder rooms are like spas, with pretty smells and floral prints on the wall. I've even heard that some of them include comfortable chairs, a concierge, and soap dispensers that work.
Johns and heads are vile places - particularly at gas stations - with sights and smells to which no one should be subjected.
Women enter the ladies' room appearing one way, and they come out changed: their makeup looks different; they have re-applied lipstick or brushed their hair. It's a transformative experience. Maybe that's why they all go in together. They use each other like a NASCAR pit crew, checking each other's eye liner or lip gloss or whatever else they put on.
Males enter the men's room alone. Never have I been at a restaurant and said, "Hey Bill, you wanna hit the head?" We don't go there to have spa treatments. We're just there to take care of business and get back to the table so we can have more food and beverages. Our hair and face looks the same when we get back to the table, though we may have water spots on our shirt because the sink faucet shot a stream of water equal to the pressure of a fire hose.
I'm a bit of a men's room snob. I am never surprised at just how gross these places are. Men are notorious for not cleaning up after ourselves, particularly if our wives aren't able to enter that domain and remind us to do so.
The funny thing about public restrooms is that in men's rooms the toilet seats are usually left down, in complete contrast to the eternal battle that men and women wage at home.
If there is soap and paper towels available in a men's room, those items will be everywhere. The pink soap will be overtaking the countertop like a scene from "The Blob"; the paper towels-which I'm sorry to say are used by way too few men, because they skip the hand-washing step-are strewn about like confetti in Times Square.
Men don't really speak to each other in the men's room, as that would "be weird." Women probably feel comfortable in the ladies' room debating whether Jason Castro should have gotten booted off of "American Idol," but guys just want to get in, get out, and move on.
If there are paper towels available or an electric hand dryer that works, great. If not, those of us who actually wash our hands will either use toilet seat liners or our T-shirt to dry our hands. (At least we're trying.)
Women who have used Port-A-Potties know what a men's room is like, as the only difference between the two is the space available to stand. Men or, more likely, pre-adults like to scrawl dirty messages or gang signs or draw anatomically exaggerated pictures on the walls of our stalls. I can't verify this, but women probably leave pink Post-Its with encouraging words for each other on their stall walls.
Bottom line (pardon the pun) is, men are slobs and we know it. Since we have the ability to make any tree or patch of dirt outdoors our restroom, we don't worry too much about the appearance of the indoor facilities we use in public places.
And I'd like to apologize in advance for not putting the seat down at home.
Adam Breen Adam Breen teaches journalism at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
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