As many of you may know from reading my blog, I work for a large home improvement store chain (the blue one), and my daily comings and goings on the job eventually find me visiting one area of the store several times day.

The public restroom.

Upon seeing that many of my fellow male brethren also use these facilities (sorry ladies, I have no idea what goes on over on your side of the aisle, but I can only imagine), I am forced to conclude that there desperately needs to be some sort of formal training in etiquette and protocol regarding the lavatories, as I witness truly egregious behavior on almost every visit.  To put it mildly – guys are pigs.  It’s a wonder we’re even allowed out in public – let alone be trusted to use someone else’s bathroom.

Here is a short “user’s guide” that should be studied and followed whenever nature calls and one finds themselves outside their own domicile:

The Urinals

First of all, spacing here is key.  If there are three urinals onsite and the far-left one or far-right one is occupied (while the other two remain open and free), under NO circumstances should the next arrival saunter up into the middle urinal (if an empty stall can be maintained between users).  An “open urinal” spacing guide is not a suggestion here, fellas – it’s the rule.  If more than three urinals are available for use (and free space is an option), there should ALWAYS be as many open urinals between patrons as possible.  Nothing causes “stage fright” (e.g. the inability to urinate in public) faster than having “Hobo Joe” park it in the urinal right next to you while you’re trying to go.

Also, this is not the time to strike up a conversation with a stranger.  A head nod is the only acceptable form of communication.  If I don’t know you, the last thing I want to do is introduce myself whilst trying to take a leak – no offense.  In addition, don’t be gazing towards me, either over the dividing wall or anywhere in my general direction, for that matter.  Seriously, who needs that kind of anxiety in their life.  To remove the awkwardness, users should look straight ahead (or down at their own plantation), close their eyes, or read the bulletin board placed on the wall in front of them.  I’m sure someone needs to know about next week’s entertainment line-up at the bar, info concerning the Tuesday night wing special, or in my locale, how easy financing can get me a new outdoor deck in only thirty-six payments.  If they have a TV embedded in the wall (aren’t we fancy?), then watch it.  Just shut up, do your business, and hit the bricks, cowboy.

Lastly – a word about direction.  The phrase “aim high” is great on a motivational poster or if you’re giving archery tips to William Tell, but is terrible advice at the urinal.  Here, the operative words are “down” and “contained”.  Point that stream towards a drain hole, you wannabe-Ghostbuster.  Stop attempting to create enough spray to sideline the “Maid of the Mist” or trying to see if you can spot a rainbow in the porcelain blowback.  Besides, these are the only pants and shoes I brought to work today, so have a little respect for my outerwear.

The Stalls

Is it that hard to hit the toilet when dropping the deuce?  Good Lord, it’s as if some of you are trying to bomb a German munitions plant outside of Munich in a B-52 from 25,000 feet.  Plant that keister inside the lines, Squanto.  I also think I speak for all of us when I say “how about a courtesy flush, Captain Colon?”  I don’t know how much fiber was required to move out that rotten whale carcass you ingested at ‘Golden Corral’ last night, but honestly, it seems to be past its prime.  Have some sympathy for the rest of us.  You may be used to that stench, but my eyes are watering, and I’m still in the hallway outside.

There’s also no need to take this time to catch up on your cell phone calls.  It’s just a stall, dude – we can all hear you.  Speaking of which, keep the moaning down to a minimum.  I don’t care if you’re passing a bowling ball in there – clench your teeth and do it with some silent pride.  Geeeesh.

The Sinks

Believe it or not, there are some in there.  Use them.  I just heard you sitting in stall number three, Jerry. There’s no way that one-ply bathroom tissue kept all of that nuclear waste you just deposited off of your extremities.  Take thirty seconds and drop the radiation level down to safer levels by thoroughly scrubbing those hands, chief.  This also applies to the urinal club, whose members often adhere to the “squirt and split” policy.  At least dab some water on those mitts and dilute the twig-and-berry sweat you picked up from man-handling your naughty bits. Have a little respect for yourself.

These are also hand sinks, not shallow bathing pools.  I’ve seen some people start thrashing water around their head and upper torso like an epileptic pigeon in a birdbath or an Indian guru cleansing himself in the Ganges River.  Calm down. This isn’t the YMCA.

We then come to hand towels.  For those of you not inclined to use the electric dryers, one or two paper towels is plenty.  No one is insulating an attic or stopping an arterial bleed here – it’s simply drying a pair of moistened hands.  Also, when finished, is it possible to drop the used wad of wetness into the can?  The can RIGHT BELOW the dispenser?  Of course, these are the same pilots that couldn’t hit the head on their recent sortie over Mount Ve-poopius.  Maybe it’s some sort of weird container phobia.

Follow these simple guidelines and make everyone’s day a little brighter – or for the love of Pete, do us all a favor – and do your business at home.