For some reason, a large portion of my ideas for Harrison Fjord articles revolve around public bathrooms and, more specifically, the correct etiquette and usage of public bathrooms. It’s not that I have some sort of unrealised fecal obsession, or that I spent a large subsection of my youth trapped in a public bathroom – rather, it’s because there are so many etiquette DOs and DON’Ts that we simply aren’t taught. Instead of campaigning for bathroom-educational reform in our schools, I write a plethora of toilet articles.
Of all of the public institutions I can imagine, public bathrooms are by far the most disgusting. Every man knows that when he enters a public bathroom, he’s entering a potential pit of vile filth. No matter how clean they are, I distrust public bathrooms. They seem suspicious to me. I feel as there is a thin layer of urine hiding in unsuspecting spots, waiting to ambush me; as though that-smell-I-just-inhaled is going to give me some sort of awful infection, quite possibly cholera; as though my very presence there is exposing me to exotic bacteria that could only survive in such a place.
Thankfully, Harrison Fjord’s co-founder-and-public-bathroom-specialist, Julian, has built up a working list of Melbourne’s best public bathrooms, ranked according to cleanliness, level of foot traffic and something he refers to at the “poopability factor”. Tell that man where you are, and he will tell you the best bathroom in close proximity.
But I digress. The real point of this article is more of a public service announcement:
WASH YOUR GODDAMN HANDS
It seems logical to assume that the general state of cleanliness in most public bathrooms would entice people to sanitise the hell out of every portion of exposed flesh that had even the most remote chance of coming into contact with the wayward remnants of someone else’s fecal matter.
However illogical, this is not the case. Many men don’t feel the need to wash their hands post-ammonia-deposit, and the ensuing look of disapproval (?_?) that they ought to receive from their conscience is not enough to convince them to change their ways.
In a recent jaunt to the bathroom in a cinema in the CBD over the weekend, I counted twelve men not washing their hands in a minute-long stakeout-while-pretending-to-dry-my-hands. Twelve.
Why do so many men refuse to wash their hands? I can’t think of a logical explanation, so I’m leaving the question open for discussion. Comment here, on Facebook, on Twitter. email me – someone, anyone, explain to me what makes a guy think “Wow, that was pretty gross in there. Let’s eat some popcorn.”