Another bathroom conversation

I observed several months ago that men are developing a new language of etiquette consisting of non-verbal signals - a language used mainly in public toilets. With apologies to any female readers, here is another glimpse into the evolving silent idiom of the privy.
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Scene: A restaurant.

Man 1: Enters. Face red, walks smartly to Urinal 1, unzips. (Translation: I'm so tense from that performance evaluation. I can't wait to get a beer and relax.)

Man 1: Stands uneasy for a moment at Urinal 1. Looks around. Skitters to Urinal 3 as belt buckle rings.  (Translation: If someone comes in, I'd hate to be standing next to the sink.)

[Time passes. The room is silent as a tomb.]

Man 1: Examines the tiles and chrome pipes before him; tries to forget why he is here. (Translation: Please just pee, so I can join my friends. Why cant I just pee? Jeez, I'm not 13 anymore.)

[High heels in the hallway outside. Ladies room door opens and closes.  In less than a minute, a toilet flushes far away. The same high heels again that eventually fade away.]

Man 1: Head hanging low, eyes closed, thinking about Niagara Falls.  (Translation: Just relax, old boy. There's a good fellow. You can do it. Yes. Come on, come on! Oh Danny Bo-oy! the pipes, the pipes are ca-lling!)

[Enter Man 2. Goes into Stall 1. Slams the door behind him, but not drawing the latch. The door creaks back open and rests against his back.]

Man 1:  Stretches neck to the side until vertebrae pop, eyes roll up to the ceiling. (Translation: Oh no, oh no, oh no! I cant pee with someone else in here! Unless perchance he flushes the toilet, and the toilet is one of those long flushers. Then I may have a chance. Come on, dude. Help me out here. Please be a thorough hand washer.)

Man 2 in Stall 1:  Stall door bangs and is left half open. Quick zipper down in 0.2 seconds and belt buckle tinkling.  (Translation: Hhaaaah! I'm dying here. I gotta pee like a racehorse!)

[No noise from either men.]

Man 1: Places one hand against the cool tile, leaning forward, jaws clenched. Recites quadratic formula to distract self.  (Translation: That's it. I'll never pee again. Not until I can escape ALL humanity, far from listening ears, from the toxic rays of watching eyes. Yes, yes! Away! To a place of seclusion! To an abandoned bungalow in some reclusive Montana wilderness...)

Man 2 in Stall 1: Heavy sigh, a pause and then, the sound of a thick stream, pouring forth with might. It sounds unearthly to Man 1, like a frothing vortex. Man 2 passes gas freely and without reserve. Sigh of contentment.  (Translation:  Damn skippy.)

Man 1: Frustrated, zipping pants loudly and going to the sink to wash, pretending to be finished. Shakes water from hands unhurriedly. Languidly pulls out paper towels, dries hands and strolls to the door. (Translation: He's probably some college student, virile, carefree and frank, probably been drinking plenty already. Me, I get stage fright. I'll pretend to have already peed, stand outside, and come back in when he leaves.)

[Man 1 leaves as vortex of Man 2 peeing continues unabated.]

[Outside, four minutes pass in agony. Man 1 reads flyers on bulletin board feigning perfect thralldom at the announcements of macramé lessons and local band performances.]

[Man 2 finally exits visibly happier, stronger, smarter. Catches faintest sideways glance at Man 1, knowing his sorry dilemma, smirking arrogantly. Man 1 reenters the men's room. Skitters across to Urinal 1. Waits. Finally reaches over, turns on cold water faucet at sink.]

Man 1: Holds breath, eyes glaze, whimpers audibly, euphoric like a penitent viewing The Pieta. Urinates, first slowly, then with unstoppable and profound vigor. Shouts out "YES!"  Pounds the tile wall twice in triumph. Wipes away a grateful tear with free hand. (Translation: Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, and all that is within me...)  Finishes. Sings out, boldly now, open mouthed, in full operatic voice, "Oh Danny Boy, the pipes! The pipes are calling!" Plays a fast drumbeat on the stall door with the flats of his hands. Turns toward sink and saunters victoriously to lavatory, washes, dries hands like Alexander in the palaces of Susa. Combs hair lightly with fingers, continues to hum Danny Boy. Jumps in the air, clicks heals together. Grabs the door handle.

Man 3 in Stall 2:  Clears throat. Flushes discretely.  (Translation: Nice weather were having, eh?  Oh, I say old fellow. You forgot to flush.)

To see part 1, on The Development of Neo-Bathroom Idiom, follow this link
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