Almost every topic I cover here is triggered by recent events and colored by past experience. Such is the case with the following men’s room monologue.
Several years ago I attended football camp at the University of Nevada Reno between my sophomore and junior year. We stayed in dorms right on campus and it was there I first experienced stall talk (that’s not a typo, I meant stall talk). I entered an empty stall between two occupied stalls and set about doing what I came there to do. Those on either side of me were engaged in conversation and soon became aware of my presence.
Teammate #1 said, “Who’s that?”
I replied, “It’s Blaylock.”
Teammate #2, “Blaylock, what’s up man?!”
I replied, “Not a lot. What’s up with you?”
It never struck me as on odd place to have a conversation; flash forward several years to the MTC in Provo, UT. It seemed that the monotonous routine of eat, sit, eat, sit, eat, sit, sleep had somehow synchronized the poo patterns of our entire district as we often found ourselves commoding at the same time. Without hesitation I openly engaged my bottomless brethren in stall talk small talk. Some readily answered back while others seemed nervous and a little bothered by it.
Over the years I’ve had multiple companions and roommates who refused to make conversation during my daily defecation. This has always been a source of great amusement to me personally.
Those who know me know that the word poop and nearly all potty humor really tickles my figurative funny bone. I have no problem speaking of it and relish the chance to joke about it. I am however, aware that this subject is unappealing to most and completely taboo to many.
The longer I live the more opportunities I find for commode communication. I accept the fact that, with rare exceptions, in a business environment bathroom banter is frowned upon. Even with close personal friends a little powder room powwow can be unwelcome.
My question is why?
I’m not saying I hit the head looking for idle porcelain palaver but why is john jargon in any form off limits?
This opposition becomes especially peculiar to me when it comes to talking on the phone or texting. If you keep in regular or semi-regular contact with me via phone, text or email there’s a good chance you’ve unknowingly engaged in a little can chat with yours truly. A little fecal phone if you will (that felt over the line. Too far? Maybe. Let’s plop I mean plod on). That’s just the way it is and I fail to see what makes people so agitated upon learning of this potty parley.
What’s the big flop’n deal?
Look everybody does it. And by “it” I mean make twozy. It’s as natural as…well I actually can’t think of anything more natural. So where did this unspoken routine of the unspoken latrine come from?
Is it the unpleasant aroma, the business of doing your business or the public pantlessness that causes gigantic grievance over this lavatory parlance?
My friends, together we can break the chains of silent oppression against the occasional outhouse oration. I envision a day when we can without shame correspond with our throne adjacent stall mates without fear of rebuke or reprisal. A day where it is socially acceptable for a little comfort station confab. (Okay I’m fresh out of toilet talk euphemisms so I’ll end with this thought) If you are shocked, appalled or offended by these restroom rap sessions (alright, so I had one more) then you probably should see a physician because I’d wager you’ve got more than just a stiff stool sample blocking up your bowels if you know what I mean.