Men's Room
Every Christmas I buy my brother Paul something bathroom related. Not cologne. Not a shaving kit. Usually it's a poop book, a ridiculous bathroom game, or something with a name that would make most wives roll their eyes before they even opened the box. The kind of gift that makes two grown men laugh much harder than they probably should.
Paul and I think they're hilarious. The rest of the family isn't nearly as impressed. Mary, Grace, and Audrey usually look at us like we're two twelve-year-olds who somehow managed to get into our sixties without ever growing up. The funny part is Grace was actually the one who picked up Paul's latest Christmas gift for me. It was called Tumbling Turds. So while they may not appreciate the humor, they're certainly helping keep it alive.
Yesterday Mary and I were at the Cubs game, and I told her I thought had my next blog. I barely got through the setup before we somehow ended up talking about whether bathroom talk belonged at the dinner table. That was not my point. I completely shut down. If I couldn't even get to the real story, why keep talking? We probably didn't speak for the next five innings. At one point Mary looked over and asked, "Want to go to the bathroom?" And we started talking again. This is probably funnier than the rest of the blog.
My brother and I have talked about this before because it reminds us of something our dad used to say. My father was a minister, but he loved Monty Python. More than once I heard him say, "People complain about Life of Brian, but they completely miss the point. Jesus is over there giving the Sermon on the Mount. The movie isn't about Jesus. It's about Brian."
I've always liked that observation.
People hear the word "bathroom" and immediately think they know what the story is about.
They almost never do.
Last Sunday I was having breakfast with Mary and my daughters when I realized I needed to use the restroom. It isn't my favorite restaurant bathroom because it's tiny and a little rough around the edges. If two guys are in there at the same time, you're already negotiating personal space before anybody says a word.
I walked in and stepped up to the urinal. Somebody was already in the stall, which meant we were maybe two feet apart. For some reason the restaurant had the music absolutely blaring in the bathroom, even though you could barely hear it out in the dining room. The guy in the stall was quietly humming along. I wasn't paying much attention until I recognized the song.
Phil Collins. In the Air Tonight.
Just as Phil sang, "Oh Lord..."...we both started laughing.
Neither one of us said a single word. We didn't have to. We both knew exactly why it was funny. I finished up, washed my hands, and walked out still chuckling.
When I got back to the table, Mary asked what happened. I told them the story. Grace and Audrey cracked a smile, but I could tell they didn't really think it was all that funny. Well, the guy in the stall and I did.
Years before that, Mary's grade-school friend Bill and I stopped at the old Rock and Roll McDonald's after a night at Outtakes. If you remember Chicago back then, you probably remember the routine. The bars closed, everybody got hungry, and half the city seemed to end up at Rock and Roll McDonald's.
The restaurant was packed, and so was the men's room. The line stretched out into the dining area. Every stall was occupied. Every urinal was full. Nobody was talking. That's the amazing thing about a men's restroom. Forty guys can be standing within a few feet of each other, and everybody politely pretends the other thirty-nine don't exist.
It was completely silent until we heard a voice from one of the stalls.
"Hello?"
Nobody answered.
A few seconds later it came again.
"Hello?"
Still nothing. Then the voice got a little louder.
"Is anybody out there?"
Without missing a beat Bill quietly answered,
"No."
Every guy within earshot was trying not to laugh while pretending nothing had happened.
Then everything got quiet again.
Finally the guy tried one last time.
"Hello? Is there anyone else out there?... Could somebody get me a roll of toilet paper?"
Before anybody even had time to think about helping him, another voice simply answered...
"No."
The poor guy sounded completely defeated.
"Noooo?"
Not one person moved. To this day I have no idea if anyone ever rescued him. I'd like to think somebody did. It obviously wasn't me.
Years after that I was at Berlin on Belmont with a friend. Nobody in Chicago had better music. (Well, maybe Medusas) Long before Spotify, YouTube, TikTok, or Instagram, if you wanted to hear and see music nobody else was playing, Berlin was the place.
Before we left that night, we stopped in the restroom. The urinals were so close together your shoulders practically touched. The room was completely quiet except for the muffled bass coming through the walls. You could almost feel it more than hear it.
Out of nowhere my friend looked at the guy next to him, pointed down, and asked, "Does this look infected to you?"
Without even turning his head the guy answered,
"Shut up, man... I'm a lady."
The entire room exploded.
Every guy seems to have one of these stories. Maybe it happened at Wrigley. Maybe it happened at O'Hare. Maybe it happened at a roadside diner in the middle of nowhere. It probably involved somebody whose name you never learned and never would.
For maybe thirty seconds your lives crossed. Somebody said exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. The whole room laughed. Everybody washed their hands, walked out the door, and went on with their lives.
Mary finally broke our silence with four simple words.
"Want to go to the bathroom?"
Without realizing it, she'd rescued both the conversation and the blog.
My dad always reminded people that Life of Brian wasn't really about Jesus. This story isn't really about bathrooms, either.
About Greenland Sharks
Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.
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