Home bowl syndrome

Jesus, this kills me every time we go out of town.

 

I feel your pain Henry.
It takes me a while to get comfortable not going at my house. I will only use a public one if I absolutely have to and can't stand going at a bar or restaurant.
I don't mind using the one at work, but it freaks me out that people might be able to hear my so I slip my headphones on and blast my iPhone so I can't hear anything. I figure if I can't, they can't.
One of my buddies was even worse. He would literally leave gatherings to drive an hour home so he could use the bathroom. Finally, last summer, he got over it.

 

I never, ever use the one at work. Everyone in the building drinks 8 cups of coffee before 9 a.m. Not the best time to hit the head. Then, 8 more cups by lunchtime.

And Coasties, I've learned, have zippy shame. They don't care how badly they stink or how much noise they make.

Just a disaster. I always wait until I get home. I have an amazing ability to do that, even in situations I think might make me break my streak at 8 or 9 a.m. One of my few talents.

 

I have used public toilets twice in my life. Never even used the ones at work.

 

It doesn't bother me when I go out of town, but I hate wasting a good one outside of the hotel. Did that twice last weekend. Bummer.

 

I'll use a broad definition of "home," which includes work, but any time we hit the road I'm in trouble.

 

Oh, hotels are best, especially Marriotts. Big bathrooms, lots of flushing power.

Best "home bathroom" ever was in Hanover Hall at Mason. Hurricane Hanover, we called it. No matter what you ate for lunch or dinner, Hanover's bowls could handle it. It was worth the five-minute walk (or sprint) from the dorms.

 

Anywhere's fine with me. Someone's house, office, woods ... when ya' gotta, ya' gotta.

 

That ought to be the tagline for their bowls.
I remember Steve Czaban once had an entire segment of his old radio show devoted to the toughest places to earn a "road win." He compared an airplane bowl to Cameron Indoor. Funny stuff. I think the winner, though, was your standard issue shithole bar. Those places are like taking on the '86 Celtics at the Garden.

 

Henry, I feel your pain. Same thing happens to me. Something odd happens to my body when I go on the road. And it's not because I'm squeamish about using a public restroom. I go all the time at work. And at restaurants, at friends' houses, at Trader Joe's, at the park, at Starbucks, at the arena, at the gym, at my parents' house, at the library, at Borders ...

 

One of my philosophies of life, and I will swear by this to my dying day, is that one of the greatest things about being an adult is being able to head to the head for 10 or 15 minutes without remorse or shame. Back when you're in school, it's impossible. If you gotta take your talents to South Beach, you miss a quarter of the class and the teacher and your classmates give you weird looks when you return. And that's if you're even able to go. The douchebag stoners always seemed to think it was funny to piss on the paper. Or they somehow escaped the school with the doors to the stalls. Where the fuck did those things go? Did the wood shop use them for scrap wood?
You can't squeeze one out between classes because you only have four or five minutes, plus you have to deal with the stoners smoking in there -- probably as they watch you and laugh at your contortions, since they stole the fucking door and pissed on the paper.
God help you if the cafeteria served tacos that day. Those fucking sadists.
I'd love to see a study of the number of kids with Hirschsprung's Disease or Colitis in our nation's public schools. It's got to be through the roof.

 

Buses are the worst. Much more motion than an airplane, cramped and everyone on board pretty much knows what you're doing. Harder than trying to run the ball against the '85 Bears.