Stalling in the Stall: A Photo Essay

I think when I say that I don’t enjoy bumping into other men in a public rest room, I am not alone.

Perhaps I should be a little more specific. What I don’t like is coming out of a stall after I’ve done my business, and encountering co-workers wandering amidst the sinks and urinals. It’s such an intimate setting, it feels as though we should be talking to each other, sharing in the brotherhood of fellow men who have similar biological needs to ours. Yet it’s that very intimacy that intimidates us into fears that any overtures could be misinterpreted.

Besides, I don’t like talking to most people at my desk or in the hallway; why should I want to engage them in the bathroom?

So when I’m using a stall, and I can tell from the shuffle of feet or the splashing of water or certain olfactory indicators that others are in the room, I tend to linger in the privacy of the commode cubicle. It’s usually only a few minutes before I hear the exit door closing, signaling me that it’s safe to emerge into an empty room.

I actually view this respite as an opportunity for a little quiet time in the midst of a hectic day, and have created some diversions for myself to make the moments pass more quickly. Using only the common fixtures found in most restrooms, I’ve devised something of a “play time,” and thought I could share these ideas with others who yearn for both privacy and fun.

Fine dining and bathing?

I don’t know what these three devices are intended to do, but I won’t let that limit my imagination. The circular thing at bottom left appears to unscrew and so would make a fine plate for an impromptu meal, or perhaps a frisbee. I presume the spigot will release water, allowing a quick sponge bath with sopping tissue. The other piece of plumbing, attached to the toilet tank itself, looks like a fire suppression sprinkler, so I probably shouldn’t mess with it. I don’t want to set off any alarms. I’m here to evacuate myself, not the whole office park.

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Feel the burn

Here are two opportunities for a quick workout while waiting on the urinator next door. The handicap grips can be used as uneven parallel bars for a speedy upper-body burn to build those biceps. (Don’t swing so high that your feet appear over the top of the stall — that could arouse suspicion). The plunger can double as a pogo stick.

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Explore the dark side

Many stalls have a little metal door in the wall leading to places unknown. If you can stuff yourself through, it could be a chance for a wonderful and mysterious adventure. (Or, you could end up trapped between the wallboard and the insulation). Use the spray deodorizer to lube yourself down for the tight squeeze, then pretend the can is a weapon to fend off the dragons and satyrs of this mystical realm in the Land Beyond the Janitor Closet.

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Me Tarzan, you hot

Catch up on your National Geographic reading from the library of periodicals atop the commode tank. This classic journal of world cultures has spiffed itself up since you probably last checked it out as a teenage boy. Gone are the half-naked native women of Amazonia, replaced now by fully naked lowland gorillas, like this seductress treed in a Tanzania national park. Her threatening gaze may say “no-no-no” but the romance of the primeval jungle will eventually convince her submit to your manly ways.

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One Response to “Stalling in the Stall: A Photo Essay”

  1. S Fox Says:

    Clearly no place is safe from the imagination of Davis W!
    I too share your aversion to meeting people in ‘restrooms’, as I’m told Americans refer to them, but you are the first to openly admit to resting in them.
    Thankfully, I have an abormally stretchy bladder and I’m just full of the ‘s’-word, and the building I work in is very large, so when forced to release the poisons my body has been creating all day, I can travel to a distant floor to avoid awkward conversations.
    And then I return to my desk and release more poison onto the keyboards…

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