Cursing Down at Me

Central Florida seems to consist nearly entirely of chain restaurants. So, driving down a strip of highway it is in no way abnormal to pass a Chili's followed by a Denny's, a Bennigan's followed by a Houlihan's, and a Cracker Barrel followed by a Golden Corral. It was after dining at one of these "fine establishments" earlier this afternoon that I found myself suddenly and unexpectedly needing to quote un-quote use the facilities. Seeing as I was in public, browsing a Borders Books and Music to be specific, and would be wholly unable to wait until we returned home. It was without hesitation that I headed for the nearest restroom.

Once inside and "seated," if you will, I found myself impressed by how calmly I was handling the situation. Usually a mess when it comes to the public toilet department, I had absolutely no qualms or reservations whatsoever about droppin' my cosby kids off at the pool. Despite the presence of the gentleman sitting in the stall beside me, who it appeared was 1. enjoying the contents of an entire newspaper (the pages of which could be heard loudly and crisply shifted every half minute or so) and 2. had proceeded to remove both his shoes (as they were practically all the way past the shared partition and well into my side). For all I knew it was a manager on his break. But whoever it was, he sure was taking his sweet time.

It wasn't, however, this man's presence or even my grace under pressure that struck me most. It was instead the sight of what the numerous other "patrons" who had donned this seat before me had chosen to do with their free time. Carved into nearly every surface of the three half walls that surrounded me were messages, warnings and quips meticulously hand-crafted by the countless prior individuals. Now anyone who has attended a public restroom before is familiar with this phenomenon. And, if so, what I'm about to say will come as no surprise. But it just hit me as especially odd, slightly amusing and only a bit messed up that of all the infinite things that a person could choose to express regarding his personal situation, his beliefs or even his state of mind that all anyone could seem to come up with was obscenity after obscenity.

"FUCK YOU"
"no fuck your mother"
"You wish, bitch"
"Ha Ha on her face!"
"yeah, yeah WHAT HE SAID motherfucker!"

This sort of thing continued on and on for nearly 360 degrees, up, down and side to side, for as far as the eye could see. Just an ocean of countless insults and scripted smack downs carved into the thick plastic laminate and delivered from one stranger to another. People who would never meet. People who if they did would never know in the first place. I was left sitting there, with nothing better to do, wondering first why so many people carry around pocket knives or objects sharp enough to carry out such a task? And also, more importantly, where does a drive of this nature even come from? Is it expressing a deeper rage in as passive a way as possible? Is it just another form of sticking it to the man (in this case Corporate America and its affinity for the bookstore/ entertainment/ coffee shop hybrid)? Or is it simply passing the time, a way to amuse yourself as you relieve your body of whatever it is you just ate?

Maybe I'll never know the answer. Maybe it runs deeper than I could ever imagine. But I do know that to destroy public property and express hateful, empty words, even in as harmless or as comical a venture as this, seems to me an utter waste of time.

You won't find that sort of thing here, not on this blog anyway. I won't let this endeavor devolve into a bathroom wall. There are always about a million more significant things to say besides "Your Mother." But if that's more your sort of thing, then I'm sure you need look no further than your local 7-11, Barnes and Noble, Chick Fil-A or even High School locker room. The popularity of childish, bathroom humor is as timeless as a Chanel suit. And the best part is that the exercise is more or less a team sport. Everyone gets a say, there are absolutely no repurcussions and you can never go too far.