Becoming Privy To the Privy: The Female Horror Of Public Bathroom Use

PDBF is most debilitating. It's not just about the gas, fluids, pastes, goos and solids of others; most frightening of all is our own. So when we women are forced to say deal with gas, our first solution is to simply not release it. This leads to painful, gut-wrenching spasms, bloated waistlines, and the inability to sit. Add to the gas a liquid or solid, and well you do the math. The only way we can release any of this is to use our own private bathroom.

Using the potty, any potty which is not ours & ours alone, is by definition a public restroom. This means your sister's bathroom, your best friend's bathroom, even your marital bathroom (should your spouse be in the house) is a public restroom. Public restrooms lead to performance problems, for which there is no little blue pill.

I know all about public potty performance problems, for as most of you know, I spend a lot of time on the road traveling to visit my son. It's a 800 mile drive with more potty stops than I care to think about -- but for you, I will discuss it.

First you avoid having to go as long as possible. But eventually, pain and fear of no longer being able to control it makes you head for the head. You enter the restroom hoping that no one else is in there. Rarely does that happen, and even if it should, you can never really relax assuming that you will stay alone. Typically, there is at least one other woman in there. We each sit in our own stall, with the proper 2-3 empty stalls between us (if it is possible), and we wait each other out.

Waiting is no easy task. Each of us sits in absolute silence during this emotional game of chicken, willing ourselves to be able to hold back nature until another 'gives'. The rules require no release of anything -- even exhales must be completely controlled. In most cases, "to the victor goes the spoils", but should we be the 'winner' our relief is simultaneously mixed with the loser's grief: we know what shame she experiences.

Some of us have mastered being able to pee while the sounds of rushing toilet waters cover our the sounds of own water, but even so, some duties require them to leave the facilities before we can begin. Once we do begin, we prepare ourselves to be able to stop on a dime and once again hold should another enter... until we imagine that whoever is waiting for us is about to send in medical help because we must be so ill to be taking so long. Which embarrassment is greater? The lady we don't know, or the company we return to? :sigh: It's a tough call. Using public restrooms is rife with complexity.

About a month ago I had the 'opportunity' to be the 'winner' in a public restroom. Due to previous traffic volume in the lavatory we found ourselves side-by-side, she in the stall to my immediate left, locked in our stalls and in morale battle. We were competting in a duel of wills, bladders, and sphincters; yet sisters just the same. I sat managing my breathing when I heard a funny noise. It was a popping sort of a sound, followed by the bouncing and reverberation until something settled silently on tile.

Since I couldn't see anything but my lap and metallic stall walls, I had to guess what it was. It sounded like the cover of a can of Aqua Net hairspray had popped off and hit the floor. In my mind I imagined her purse or its contents had fallen on the floor, but before I could ponder the strangeness of the popping occurring prior to hitting the floor, the woman exclaimed "Oh, my goodness!" Her apparent horror was clear in her tone if not her word choice. There was the sound of scuffling, pants being gathered and pulled etc., and a flush of the toilet. Skipping her hand washing, I heard her exit the restroom door.

I just began the delicate process of relaxing my muscles -- with great control should my now-employed super-sonic hearing detect that I would soon have company, which is not an easy task when you're guts have been twisting for 60 miles -- when the door burst open. Someone scuttled quickly to the recently vacated stall leaving me to conclude that it was the same woman, for no other woman would choose to sit so close to another occupied stall. I was a bit startled by what I heard next:

"Oh, my God, I can't believe I just shit on the wall!" came the voice from the stall on my left, along with sounds of liquid being deployed from a bottle & paper product being crunched.

Before I could process her words, I had the difficult task of trying to comprehend that she was talking to me. Panic set in because you don't talk to other women you don't know when they are in the stall -- you just don't do it. It's like eye contact at a urinal; forbidden. But no, she wasn't talking to me. Another woman had entered the restroom with her, the proof of which was her laughter which placed her across from me, at the sinks.

"Oh God, I can't wait 'til it's my last day; I'm gonna shit on the wall -- and leave it for Laura," sink girl said. More laughter, and then she continued, "...not Sue, that wouldn't be nice -- but Laura..." more laughter "she so deserves to clean up my shit."

By the time I could assimilate any of this, they were gone.

I don't recall a toilet being flushed, water running, any additional conversation, or the door being opened. (Nor, mercifully, did I smell anything, not even cleaning product.) Just the sound of the door quietly whisking shut on the soft hem of their laughter and I was alone.

Just my contacted muscles and my mind filled wonder...

Did she really say she shit on the wall?! Why did her poop sound hollow and plastic, like a cap hitting the tile? Bouncing noises? Why did I have to hear any of this? How can you poop on the wall behind you if you are sitting on the toilet? Was it this force which made it impact with a plastic popping noise? Did she show this woman who apparently was her coworker?! Were they laughing?! If both of them were employees, how come neither washed their hands! Should I feel pity for a woman who not only 'lost' but pooped on a wall, or do those who don't wash their hands deserve no pity?

...Oh my God, how long had I been in here? Hubby was waiting in the car; he was never gonna believe this.