The Hot Seat

This may come as a surprise to some members of the opposite sex, especially the unmarried demographic, but one of the most enjoyable simple pleasures in a man’s daily life are the few he spends in the bathroom taking care of nature's business. Some, like myself, stretch those experiences to their maximum in an effort to get the most out of one sitting. I can read, play sudoku, play my guitar, or even return phone calls. (If you know me well, we've probably talked more than once while I was on the think tank). And the best part is, I can’t be called on to do anything. That time is my own and I’m beholden to none. No one can tell me to move, and I don't until my legs are conclusively asleep.

This experience, of course, has it’s antithesis; opposition in all things. There is the joy of the domestic restroom experience and the pain of the public restroom experience. Let me give one example to illustrate my point. At home one of the worst things associated with the long sit down is the initial sting of a cold seat, and unless you’re willing to do the Japanese "stand-and-squat" you are forced to endure this inevitable shock of cold. This is only compounded when I unwittingly place my freezing bowl of ice cream on my naked thighs.

In public the opposite is true. Shock occurs when I sit, not on a cold, but on a warm toilet seat. The warm toilet seat means one thing; someone has recently been there and his butt heat is still radiating from the very surface my skin is touching. I hit the seat; feel the heat, my stomach sinks, and my mind races in an attempt to decipher who may have been here last. It doesn’t take long since it was only about 30 seconds ago that I past a fat, hairy Italian on his way out laughing under his breath, and, that explains all the black hairs around the seat when I sat down. Gag reflexes kick in and now the taste of bile accumulates in the back of my mouth. Without recourse I resign myself to this temporary lavatory Hell and set aside my bowl of ice cream, for which I have totally lost my appetite. Maybe if the seat cools sufficiently the next guy can enjoy it. (the ice cream, not the seat)



Every once in a while I accidently leave the door unlocked and Maggie comes in, turns and sits in the mini hammock made by my dropped pants, and then hopes to get a private concert. And though the private moment is lost I can't help but oblige my number one fan.