Our entire office just moved into a new building. First day in the new digs was Monday so it’s been an exhausting week with all the packing, unpacking and decision making, but we are settling in. The new space was stripped to the studs and completely redone.
The bathroom facilities are larger, but similar to the old space in that there is a large “foyer” on the other side of the main door for mirror, benches, etc. and only upon turning to the left and entering further does one encounter the sinks and stalls.
In the old building, we had a “bathroom lady”. She came to the floor twice a day to clean and restock the ladies room. And there was a man who did the men’s room. So when the urge struck – and the door was propped open to indicate cleaning – I didn’t think anything of walking in past the foyer, entering the second stall from the front (based on published evidence of comparative cleanliness it is the best) and sitting down.
It was not until the business had begun that I heard a startled voice from the end stall. “Senora..ummm.. ¡Perdóneme!” and it was not a female voice. Too late.
I stop here to say that anyone who knows me knows I do not embarrass easily so this didn’t phase me, and I was in no position to stop what I was doing anyway. I simply called out “Lo siento senor. Un momento por favor” (I’m sorry sir, one moment please).
It all came out well. Poor fellow was waiting outside the facilities as I left. I smiled and thanked him for being patient – what else was there to say?
But it got me to thinking about my personal scenarios over the years. My current relationship is one with a tiny NYC bathroom holding shower, sink, and toilet. Mornings sometimes require one in the shower and one on the seat, but in general, it’s a closed door single occupation. I have also lived with always share, sometimes share, leave the door open, and must close the door – all on an as-needed basis. (and no, the aforementioned never included poo, or #2, or whatever you were raised to call it)
Two hundred years ago, bathroom habits were not so private. Away from home, people would go behind a tree or in the woods using leaves, grass, or even dry corncobs for wiping. At home, people walked outside to use everything from a hole in the ground to an outhouse that consisted of a raised platform with a hole in the seat. In bad weather people sat on a chamber pot, which was taken out and emptied. There are stories of people in towns hit by waste from a chamber pot dumped from an upstairs window. Public outhouses often had multiple holes, or seats, so people could use them at the same time.
My own grandparents had an outhouse and used pages from the Sears catalogue for toilet paper. We used it when visiting up until my grandpa died in 1966 and grandma moved to a new home with a toilet. (read about the adventures at my grandparent’s home in my book Do You Believe in Always.)
So whether you are an “open”, “close”, or “share”, you are in good company when you decide to pee, or not to pee.