I find it very strange to sit and pee and listen to someone else peeing. And have them listen to me peeing.
It is an odd form of intimacy. All alone in my wide stall (I like the one in the corner that’s for wheelchairs, but not for the size but because it has a railing and I got used to using the rail to hold my back brace during the recovery months) with the unmistakable sound of streaming water into a big white bowl keeping me company.
And it isn’t mine.
I admit it. I want solitude in my physical expulsions. I want to sit in isolation when eliminating the unused portions of my food. I want to be alone when I pee or take a shit.
It is just downright weird to me to listen to someone else’s plop plop fizz fizz.
And almost (though not completely) equally weird that the other person is listening to me dribble it out.
It’s not supposed to be that strange, right? That’s why we have multiple stalls in places? Mind you, it’s not so bad in say a movie theater where there are plenty of people coming through, plenty of noise to cover the personal sounds. Or plenty of distance between the stalls. It removes that intimacy, the closeness, the unavoidable awareness of the pure physicality of another person at their most base level.
And their awareness of me.
Maybe it’s my own animal nature made naked before the other person that really bothers me. Tomato tomato. That just doesn’t work the same in writing.
And look how quickly I skip right off that concept. It’s still there. The uncomfortableness but hey, I can avoid if I want. So there. Ah, the joys of immaturity. We should never let that go.
In fact, if I’d kept some of that childhood viewpoint I probably wouldn’t be so conscious of shared peeing in the silence of a small bathroom. Kids never seem to mind.
Ah, to be young again.
~Samantha, a skeleton woman