When I sat down to write this post, I was feeling a bit indignant — my usual state, and oh, what a pleasurable state it is. On reflection, I have no defensible reason to feel hackled about what happened yesterday while I was at Nordstrom’s buying socks.
When I walked into the store, I realized I needed to pee something fierce. I went to Nordstrom’s well-appointed men’s room near men’s accessories, where I then peed. Since this is something of a story of detection, it’s important that I recount precisely the events that occured next…
1) When done peeing, I shook.
2) I put my part safely back in my underwear.
3) I buttoned my pants and cinched my belt.
4) I stepped away from the urinal, which moments later flushed itself.
5) I walked to the door of the bathroom and grabbed the handle.
No, I didn’t. I’ll tell you why. Close your eyes if you’re sensitive. I was taught at a very young age not to piss on my hands. Period. I was also taught to be a clean person. Period. I have no problem walking into a bathroom, peeing without touching fixtures and flushers, and then walking out. Perhaps you live in a world where genitalia are dirty by design. I don’t.
The man who intercepted me at the door when my hand grabbed the door handle was of the “you’re dirty” camp. Abruptly and without provocation, he pointed toward what he called the “wash basin,” using his hands to telegraph his message: go over there and wash your hands.
Since guys are generally incapable of conversing in the men’s room, I was a bit surprised, not just to be spoken to, but to be directed to do something. Something I didn’t need to do. Something that was none of his fucking business.
Perhaps it’s his upbringing. I hear that rural Iraqis are reluctant to shake with their left hands because they associate it with ass-wiping. Rural Indonesians — I’m told — have a thing about oral sex because of the dirtiness of it all. Pity, that. Oral sex and a little soap go a long way.
I told the man that I was raised not to pee on my hands and then I walked away from him. To have dabbled further in debate would have lowered the discourse to vitriol — all brought on by me, no doubt.
Today’s lesson? If you touch fixtures in the bathroom, wash your hands. If you’ve got foul genitalia, wash your hands. If you pee on your hands (God help you), then wash your hands. But for pete’s sake, stay out of my pants. You don’t know anything about me.