I used to think I was a Shameless Shitter. I was pretty regular, so I'd proudly strut my stuff down a city-block-long high-rise in which I used to work, newspaper/magazine/journal under arm, no cares in the world. I thought I was pretty cool.
I decided to go back to school, however. My program of study had eleven students -- myself and ten females. At first I was excited -- even though I'm engaged, the mere prospect of being around that much estrogen-laden tissue had a certain allure.
That's when I realized that, by some cruel twist of fate, I was located in a field (for the sake of anonymity, I won't disclose what it is) overrun with women. By statistical analysis, it shouldn't be. It should be about 50/50 -- I guess there's a bumper crop of smart, pro-active feminists this year.
Anyway, second day of class. I've got a warm one working itself up. Gotta void. Head into the hallway. There's ONE bathroom within a radius of six classrooms (it's a small college, offering only ten degrees, and even though we're a part of a university, the OTHER folks get the nice building, because there's more of them).
I wander. I clutch my cheeks. I find an unoccupied bathroom and let myself in. I am a Shameless Shitter -- or so I thought! No stalls. Just a toilet, a sink, a wall-mounted trashcan, and about fourteen inches of louvers in the door, open at a 45-degree angle, angled down into the hall, not adjustable. They put this contraption in a beautiful two-inch thick solid oak door. Sure, it lets a little air flow in and out -- but it also (being at the very end of a very long hallway) could conceivably cause reverberations that would prevent me from coming out alive.
I was mortified. Never has this happened to me -- I'd become a Shameful Shitter!
This was the only bathroom that even resembled something not "female". None of the bathrooms say "Men" or "Women", but this is the only sanctuary I've never seen a female come out of. The problem: a large quantity of females walk past the partially open (because of the louvers) door every 15 or 20 minutes.
I, a formerly Shameless Shitter, now have no choice but to quiet the biologic noise of my voiding so I can hear the ephemeral sounds of approaching feminine footsteps! I'm even afraid to READ in there, regardless of what the material is -- what if one of them hears a page turn?
Even if they heard it, and walked on, there's still a pretty big risk that I'll be caught by the same female (in a college of about 100, it's pretty good odds), on my way OUT of the restroom.
Isn't it called a "RESTroom" for a reason? Aren't there laws about privacy, and soundproofingness, and accessibility? Forget about the "HandiCrappers" -- give me a private wing, a sector, a building -- anything so I won't have to be so ashamed of my bodily habits. I guess I wasn't as Shameless as I thought -- the comfort of three stalls, two urinals, and a double-door creating a little anteroom before the hallway created a false sense of security in me.
Now that I can actually see the feet of passers-by while sitting on the throne itself, I'm singing a different tune -- as is my sphincter. It's tired of clamping up at the slightest provocation! Please help!
-- Dave J