That's one of the names it's been called. Outsiders frown upon it in disgust. To us, it's a staple. A topic of conversation. Something that bonds us.
That symbolism ruins all senses. It breaks every rule. When it comes to a bathroom shared by four men, it belongs to all of them, but nobody owns it. Nobody is willing to take responsibility for its condition.
I'm here to tell you now. When this happens, everyone pays.
Examples should probably be in order here. What comprises the typical bathroom of male roommates? Batten down the hatches. Bar the doors. Lock up your daughters. Practice safe sex. Insert other cliche here. It's going to get messy.
I've stepped into the bathroom of topic hundreds of times. On any given day, these are the norms:
Hairy Walls - Covered in pubic hair, facial hair, back hair, head hair, and any other place that grows hair. How to explain this phenomenon is beyond comprehension. It's almost as if we all decided to replace the wallpaper with glue and repeatedly run into it naked. Probably the most unique instance was when a roommate shaved his entire head. He placed his hair in a bath towel. That bath towel remained in the middle of the bathroom floor without rhyme or reason for the better part of three weeks.
Soap – Now you might be thinking that the presence of soap is a good thing. It is, definitely. It becomes an issue when the same bottle of soap has been in the bathroom for nearly a year.
The Stains...The Stains! - The amount of stains in the toilet can be multiplied many times over. The condition of this toilet is like whatever happened to Tara Reid's stomach. It's the surprise you find in your mom's drawer. It's the loss of innocence when you realize Santa Claus doesn't exist.
Pride gets in the way. It's the only thing that keeps men from living in ultimate harmony. Nobody wants to be the one to clean it. It would be an admission of weakness. So, despite health hazards, what could possibly go wrong in this situation?
My friend met this girl a few weeks back. Part of the whole routine of dating is that a girl has to meet the guys friends. She walks into the door, introduces herself, and we begin to incorporate her into our pack.
I think it was about an hour into a movie when it hit me.
One of the great things about the male ego is loyalty wins over pride. This girl was pounding water and I knew any moment she would have to do the business. The comatose state she would undoubtedly go into after bearing witness wouldn't look good for any of the parties involved.
I casually got up and headed to the bathroom.
I Instantly dove to my knees with a towel scrubbing off every last bit of toothpaste, toe fungus, and whatever the red thing was that wouldn't come out. The toilet was combated by a scrub brush that scraped with such friction that my shoulder almost came out of its socket. I was fast. I pulled no punches. If it were a football game, it would be like running the ball down the other teams throat with the same play six times in a row. I conquered that bathroom with more gusto than the general lifespan of a FOX sitcom.
I opened the door. Sat down. It was over. Disaster averted.
As days went by, nobody really noticed the condition of the bathroom had drastically improved. Instead, they set out the slow process of defaming and dishonoring it.
It had an impact on me. Somebody has to take care of this monster. All future apartment dwellers and roommates take note. Somebody has to be the gatekeeper. Otherwise, the horror movie will jump out and grab you, and it'll be too late.