Bathroom Finicky

Currently Listening To: My Roommate Listening to Rush
I have a confession.

Prior to college, I was deathly afraid of public toilets. It's just not right; rubbing your ass all over the same piece of real estate as God-only-knows how many other people? It's different at home. I know exactly who uses a toilet there, and I know that they, you know, bathe. Same thing at other people's houses. But public toilets? Fuck that.

Weirdly enough, I'm also comfortable with hotel toilets, even though, well, everyone knows about hotels. You know what I'm talking about. Nightline or whatever and the blacklights. God only knows how many hookers have gotten fucked on that hotel toilet, but still, I'll drop a deuce on it. Or in it, rather. On it is just wrong.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, or rather, BACK TO DORM-SHITTING. Since arriving here at school, I've conquered my fear of public toilets. It was pretty simple. The second day I was here I realized I wasn't going to be able to hold it in until Christmas break. Probably should have anticipated that.

So the toilet itself is no longer an obstacle. I'm still, and likely will always be, uncomfortable with other people in the bathroom. Half the people on our hall are guys*, and that's like 30 or so people, I think? Anyways 30 guys, 4 toilets. Odds are one is in use if you're in there. So lots of times, I go in there, see a closed door and turn right back around. I just can't do it. I don't want to hear other people go to the bathroom, and I don't want someone else to hear me go to the bathroom. It's just not right. And it's weird, because I'm really not all that prudish otherwise, just, going to the bathroom is... sacred.

And this week. Someone desecrated one of those toilets. He dropped a Sloppy Joe grenade in that toilet. People were executed for lesser crimes at Nurmeburg than the atrocity that took place in stall two. It was so bad that the cleaning lady put a black trashbag over the commode, and the next day there was a hole in it. The only way I can concieve of me doing something like that involves being dead at the end.

I could go all day.

Just thought you'd like to know.

Also, I turn 18 in less than a month. Shit. Pedophiles will no longer find me appealing.

*In late elementary school/early middle school, there was a sitcom that took place in a co-ed dorm. I distinctly remember my parents telling me that co-ed dorms were a myth, and yet here I am. TAKE YER LIFE LESSONS AND STUFF 'EM, PARENTS.