Courtesy Flush

This site is my bastion for the rude and crude tendencies I tend to have, and regularly need to express. If something needs to be said, then god help me I'm gonna say it here. But, I know that the world is not limited to the keyboards, alcohol, bad TV, and constant music I use to stream the unconscious flurry of bad craziness that I do. In fact this behavior I entertain is pretty much criminal on the outside. People expect a bit of normalcy in their day to day, lest they get ornery As such, standards must be maintained. Courteous behavior and polite actions with the people around you make for a more tolerable relationship in the end. And the rules are usually simple: Be cool to your waiters and waitresses, as they are the bringers of sustenance, Smile occasionally at those who make paychecks, don't scorn those who try to endure you. All the basics.

But once in awhile, a situation comes where the proper action is a little murky. Something so off the norm, that you're just not sure of how to handle it, and still be regarded as respectable. I was left with one of these problems just the other day, and I'm hoping you loyal readers can help me here because frankly, this throws me a bit off.

Alright, here goes: What is proper conduct for dealing with a snoring man in the public bathroom stall next to you?

I'll give you a second to reread that sentence, so you can confirm that it was, in fact, what I asked.

It was a Friday like any other. I popped by the local bookstore to meet with some folks, do a bit of reading, and try and feed the muse. And as I tend to do upon entering any bookstore, my first stop was to the bathroom. Take a minute to clean out the plumbing and mark out my territory before I got on with my evening.

As I walk into this comfortable facility of the public variety, I hear a sound I've never heard before. It's a strange feeling to be sure. Usually, a trip to the bathroom has few surprises in the sonic territory. grunts, groans, putrid air flapping against skin, items with substantial mass connecting with water in a stomach-turning splash. And once in a big while if you're very lucky, an agonized plea for death to anyone who might be listening. Very little aural disturbance is surprising in a public restroom. Some days, you can even get a feel for a person's diet just by what there is to hear. And disturbing as it all sounds, it's actually a thing of comfort. If you're gonna drop trou to an audience, unsure of what you're body is about to do to you, it's nice to know that what ever toots you're gonna be making, everyone around you has made it once before. Relax there weary solider, we've all experienced the darker sides of sound. Just let go and become one of our brothers.

That said, sounds of the more unusual variety, can make a person pretty nervous. It's a vulnerable time you're about to subject yourself to, and you want recognizable things there to help you in your time of need. If you're going to die in a hideously postulated position, in some hideous looking stall, with toilet paper at your feet and time-proven erectile art at your sides, you would hope that you could at least go out relaxed and relieved.

It was not to be this way on this evening, as I stroll into the mens room to a strange grumbling/purring sound. It's so foreign in this place, that I can't even compare it to something similar. Flooding pipes don't purr, nor do fluorescent lights. At least not this loudly. On the few occasions where I've walked into a men's room where a bit of intimacy was occurring, nobody ever sounded that relaxed. This was weird.

But, I'm here, and I have a job to do. No sense in stopping now. As I approach the stall, the sound becomes louder and deeper. Pants hit the floor, I take my position, and as much as I play the denial game, I know full well what it is: A grown man snoring in a public bathroom stall.

So what am I supposed to do?

My first gut reaction, is to go adolescent here. Walk up to the man's stall, lift the boot, and kick that door with as much gusto as I can muster, all while screaming "Hey! Wake up Mr. Peabody!" This would be less than polite, of course. And there may be consequences, for example an angry man in a violent terrified rage with his pants around his ankles and hands reaching for my throat. That would make for a pretty bad scene.

So the obvious and more mature solution would be to create just enough noise to have him wake up, realize the silliness of his situation, and adjust himself accordingly. It's perfect. You retain your courtesy, he maintains his dignity, and best of all no one gets hurt.

Well it sounds good on paper, but when the man in question seems to be able to sleep through anything, things get a bit more complicated. Doors slamming, flushing toilets, various drips, drops, and other such wonderful music, all with no effect. Even loud conversations and hefty sneezes didn't phase my sleeping compatriot. This man was dead to the world.

So, I'm feeling like I'm out of options here. The obvious stuff isn't working, and I just can't get all that creative staring at my naked knees. In such instances, I've found that a little recon can make all the difference. So, I do the only amount of surveillance that my limited position allows: I tip the neck to the right and glance down. Through the space between our respective stalls, I can catch a glimpse of my colleagues feet. Not a view I particularly try to take in when sharing space with strangers, but times are desperate here.

I see just enough to decide my course of action: flip flops, weather-beaten socks, and blue jeans with muddy legs. I was willing to bet money that this man was homeless. Some poor soul who needed a few minutes of calm outside of the regular hell of having no home and no money. Possibly drunk, didn't smell like it though. Most likely, some poor fella wanted a few minutes of normal sleep in a thermally balanced place where insects couldn't eat you and the weather couldn't mess with you.

As such, I did the only thing I could think of to do: I left. I figure a man like that deserves all the good times he can get, and who am I to intrude upon them? It's not my store, nor my problem. And I don't feel particularly compelled to make it so. As I let the door close behind me, those snores could still be heard echoing off the walls. Sleep well my newfound friend. You've earned it.

I mean, come on. What would any of you do?