Chattanooga Pulse

This weekend begins the holiday party season and living on the Southside means getting invited to all kinds of events held in abandoned warehouses and other facilities not generally darkened by large numbers of revelers all at one time. And while that kind of atmosphere can be much cooler than a traditional party space, there are some basic conveniences that fall by the wayside in exchange.

One modern-day, take-for-granted nicety that suffers under the shroud of hipdom is bathroom facilities. Once you cram 200-300 people into a space with one toilet for men and one for the ladies, the line to get in can be as long, perpetual and exclusive as the velvet rope of a hot New York nightclub at midnight. Impossible.

What’s more, because it’s a party, those standing in line with legs discreetly crossed are generally bored with the whole process and are therefore preoccupied either staring at the opposite sex’s line, checking themselves out in anything shiny or chatting up whoever is in front or behind them during the prolonged absence from the dance floor. Because, like with any other task we nervously anticipate completing, the waiting is the hardest part.

I’m big on bathroom line etiquette. It’s just basic common sense that those with more immediate access to proper waste downloading facilities should respect the biological needs of those behind them. Sure, you’ve been waiting there for a while, catching up with all of the other bystanders, but you’ve got to pay attention to the matters at hand. It’s only proper that you move up in a timely and orderly fashion as the line progresses. And by all means, don’t pause when it’s your turn holding the door open to finish said conversation with that person behind you. Get in there! It’s GO time!

Girls have it tough—and at the same time make it tough on each other. If anyone is going to hold up a bathroom line for their own personal, selfish reasons it’s a girl. Whether they enter in teams to gossip about some dude who hasn’t been paying attention to them or take a few extra minutes to cake on another layer of war paint, they can make matters even more unbearable for the poor girls stuck outside.

Countless times I’ve witnessed the female kind remain poised in the on-deck circle when’s it clearly batter up and continue a conversation without any regard for those peers having to wait an extra five minutes on their behalf. What’s worse is that few girls behind them will actually speak out against them, choosing instead to inflict the same evil eye normally reserved for a boyfriend who’s either late or half-heartedly endorses whatever garment choice is in question.

I’ve also witnessed girls who will sacrifice their position in line for the sake of something—anything—deemed more important than satisfying their own burning, pseudo-involuntary bodily function. If Sally comes up crying, if Janie comes up dancing, if meathead comes up flirting, if an outfit needs complimenting, a drink needs refilling, a group of friends runs up for an “OMG heeeeeeeyyyyyy!!!!!” hug—whatever the case—when her attention is required at all, a girl will forfeit her place in line as if she was queuing up for a unwanted flu shot. If I live to be 100, I’ll never understand that philosophy.

Guys have it pretty easy. If we don’t like the looks of the play at the line of scrimmage, we can immediately call an audible and head for the closest dumpster, tall vehicle or unlit outdoor corner. Sure it’s unsanitary, but it’s likely much better than causing your bladder irreversible damage by holding in the by-product of your last four beers for an undisclosed period of time.

We’ll also take advantage of any plumbing available once inside a public restroom. Sinks, showers, floor drains. Hey, drastic times call for drastic measures. Plus, if we can move four men through the process in half the time, then we’ve eliminated the potential need for outdoor urination. And that’s probably good for the environment (although I’m not up on my fertilization facts). Regardless, it’s the reason why our line is always shorter than the girls’.

So next time you find yourself in line for the loo, take heed of your immediate station in life—and do the right thing.

It’s just good karma…

Chuck Crowder is a local writer and general man about town. His opinions are just that. Everything expressed is loosely based on fact, and crap he hears people talking about. Take what you just read with a grain of salt, but pepper it in your thoughts. And be sure to check out his wildly popular website www.thenoog.com