One of the many joys of spending a year using a common bathroom, shared by upwards of 20 male college students, is learning the bathroom habits of your peers. Some young men would venture into the stalls with copies of the school newspaper, some with textbooks to try to fill their heads as they empty their bowels. But the growth of new technologies, has inevitably crept into the bathroom habits of adolescent males. On the rarest of occasions students would take iPods with them into the bathrooms, perhaps for motivation. One day, I meandered into the restroom as a result of a few too many cherry limeades. As I entered the bathroom I heard a faint melodic tone. As I grew more intruiged and drew closer I began to recognize the familiar tune. Like a dog tracking a criminal I had pinpointed the stall from which the music blared out of an iPod. Just then, the chorus of the song rang out “ooo that smell, can’t ya smell that smell? Oo that smell…” to answer the question Lynyrd Skynyrd had posed: yes I could. I stood there, trying to aim the dispersion of recycled Cherry Limeade as I was shaking trying to contain my laughter. On the way back to my room I wondered if this gentleman had formulated certain playlists for his various bodily functions.
Late Night Surprise
The second tale begins when I came back to my room one night at around 11:00 at night. My roommate had his rather large girlfriend over and they were enjoying a romantic dinner from Arby’s. I stepped outside the room to make a phone call and then continued on to the bathroom all of the guys on the hall share to brush my teeth before I tried to force myself to sleep through the compilation of curly fries and roast beef being devoured while Peewee’s playhouse reruns (their favorite show) rang out in the night. I finished my phone call and continued on to the bathroom where I was greeted by the horrendous moans and groans of a poor soul seemingly trying to pass an entire honey baked ham into the toilet. I stood, trying to brush while wondering how long it would take for the hazmat crew to clean up the inevitable mess in this stall. After a few moments the gasseous expulsions, occasional splashes and shouts of strain and discomfort almost became overwhelming. But, just as I was about to forgo my dental health in favor of respiratory relief, I heard a flush. As the stall door flew open I peeked up to see the reflection of the perpetrator in the mirror. To my astonishment, my roommates girlfriend exited the stall (in the men’s bathroom) with a sense of pride on her face, not only did she prove she could she hang with the big boys, this was Annika Sorenstam winning the Masters. I continued to brush, curious to know if that porcelain demon spawn had gone down in the single flush, for 3-4 more minutes hoping she would leave shortly after and I would not have to try to keep a straight face when I saw her in my room. I have not eaten Arby’s since this momentus night.