Men’s Bathroom Etiquette

There are several unwritten rules of the men’s room that unfortunately must now be put in print due to the complete disregard some members have for the following Rules…

When entering an empty bathroom, it is NOT okay to enter the middle stall thus forcing any subsequent occupant to sit next to you sans buffer or worse, leave in search of another bathroom.

When entering a bathroom where the bookend stalls are both occupied, it is NOT okay to take the unoccupied middle stall, unless in moments of extreme duress.*

Only men on equal footing should carry on a conversation, i.e. when both are sitting or both standing.
Note: Conversation while both sitting should still be kept to a minimum.

This should go without saying but…when standing next to someone at a urinal the only acceptable place to look is STRAIGHT AHEAD. Closing one’s eyes is considered weird, lest the other occupant believe you to be thinking things you shouldn’t be…

It is NOT okay to join a conversation already underway unless directly invited as such by one of the participants.

When entering a bathroom, if you notice familiar shoes (which is weird enough as it is), it is NOT okay to start a conversation with the stall occupant.

If you are one of those nasty motherfuckers who doesn’t wash his hands upon exiting a bathroom, at least pretend to due so; lest people tell others that you are one of those nasty motherfuckers who doesn’t wash his hands upon exiting a bathroom.

For the love of God, know when to courtesy flush.

* In this case, “extreme” shall mean the possibility of liquid or a reenactment of the Jeff Bridges bathroom scene from Dumb & Dumber.

Elevator Assholes

Hey, Jerk-off, guess what I don’t want to hear while I’m coming back to the office with my Blueberry smoothie early in the morning? Blink 182 blaring out of your head phones. You’re not on the subway anymore, asshole, turn the fucking volume down. I don’t care how cool you think you are because you’re listening to some previously unreleased Biggie or Phish from Burning Man ’97. Turn that fucking shit down!

Joshua Tree II

So that night my buddy Famous and I went to Joshua Tree was pretty interesting. We started up at some bar in the 90’s, which needless to say is, a little out of my comfort zone. Don’t get me wrong, I know that above 86th isn’t exactly Compton and from what I’ve heard, Compton isn’t even like “Compton” anymore. Nonetheless, we started up there where I watched the Yankees shit the bed and drank really sweet Cape Codders...because I paid $20 bucks for three hours of open bar and dammit I’m going to get my fill of Cape Codders. That and I think I would’ve done anything the shot girl there told me to do.
By the time we got to Joshua Tree it was going to 12, or maybe 1, and the bar was half full…certainly not “full of girls waiting to be romanced” as he’d promised. Although, I know what I’m getting myself into every time I go there. Usually I meet some girl who claims to be 19 and go to FIT, when in reality she’s probably 17 and from Jersey.
So we’re in there buying drinks when I notice these two girls across the bar giving us the once over…and then some. I give Famous a nudge and we decide to walk over, and things are looking like they just picked up a little bit. Once over at their table however, things took a serious turn for the worse.
These girls were British. Not Sienna Miller, British either. These two slags were “shine ya shoes Guvna?” British. Teeth at angles that teeth should never be at, British. Drink you under the table and still try to take you home, British. I swear, I’ve had an easier time understanding a Chinaman on Canal Street trying to peddle me a bag of Oranges than I did understanding those two girls.
It’s not important whether I tried to tough it out and talk to them; which I did. Or whether I went home with either of them; which I didn’t. What is important is that the UK needs to import more girls who look like Sienna Miller and less girls who look suspiciously like they’d be content with a salt lick and the occasional Apple.