Mandatory Bathroom Fixtures

I am absolutely terrified of walking into a women's restroom by mistake. I am not sure where this particular irrational fear (I have a few) came from. I don't have any vivid memories of walking into a girls' bathroom, and I don't think I can blame this one on my parents (unlike my irrational fear of drawing blood--Dad). I think it may stem from my own recognition and acceptance of my absent-minded tendencies. In other words, I'm the kind of guy who would walk into a women's restroom unawares.

When I go into a restroom I compulsively check the door and the walls for any signs that might indicate what gender should enter. If there is less than two such signs present, I am content to wait for further verification that it is indeed the restroom for individuals similarly equipped like myself (that's a nice way of saying penis). A smart ass might change one sign, but smart asses are generally too lazy to switch them both. Once again, I depend on the laziness of idiots. This additional verification is usually an alert and otherwise non perverted-looking gentlemen entering or exiting my destination restroom.

Once in the bathroom, I look for the telltale sign of male presence...the urinal. There should be a building code mandating at least one urinal in every multiple occupancy male restroom. If I walk into a restroom full of stalls, I will walk out of that restroom and look at the signs again. I might even take my business elsewhere. While I firmly believe there are few things more important than bodily functions, the specter of imminent embarrassment is one of them.

If you can't give me a urinal, at least put a poster of one. Paint a urinal mural. Show me a urinal in the abstract. I don't care. Just let me know that I am where I belong. Peeing in a stall is horribly unsanitary. I'm from the "If you tinkle and you sprinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat" school of thought, but I know some of my fellow firemen are not. It is also unnerving--hearing the cascade of urine echo off the tile is ethereal, to say it best. (Oh, I've resolved to stop using "to say the least." Saying the least is what slackers do. I'm a winner, so I say it best.)

I could really do without that fifteen seconds of terror followed by two minutes of confusion as I go in and out of the restroom door several times trying to find the answer that I already know.

There really should be a support group.