Party In The Bathroom!

The other day I went to the bathroom and thought, “this really needs a remodel. How am I supposed to have a party in here?”

I should clarify. Said bathroom was not in my house. Bathroom parties at home don’t really work. This was a public restroom. And it was way too small. There were only about four stalls, and there was barely enough room to open said stall doors without hitting the sinks. And there were only two sinks. You also had to do quite the shimmying maneuver just to get into the restroom which even in my skinnier days would have been a challenge.

At this point I can hear my male readers asking, “would you please explain to me why in the world you need more space in the bathroom? And what on earth would compel you to throw a party in there?” My female readers are not asking this question, because they already know how this works. But for your benefit, dear male readers, I’m going to explain to you The Mysteries of the Women’s Restroom.

In the past I’ve had male friends ask me why women and girls go to the bathroom in groups. And I’ve given them an honest answer. We go to the bathroom to talk.

“No really, why do you go in groups?” they reply.

Seriously, menfolk. That’s the reason. I have yet to be able to actually convince a member of the male species persuasion that I’m telling the truth about the mysterious women’s bathroom. But I’m going to keep trying to convince y’all in case any of y’all happen to be architects. Then you can design the ideal women’s restroom.

“So what do you talk about?” I can hear the menfolk asking.

You. We talk about you. This is especially true for packs of teenage and/or young adult females going to the restroom. We need to be able to discuss in great detail everything that may or may not have happened in our interactions with you. Here’s an example of what a typical Teenage Girl Bathroom Meeting looked like when I was a youngun’. The scene — a junior high dance. Hormones are a’ blazin. Tensions are high. And the bathrooms are packed to the gills with highly emotional tweens and teens.

A super distraught teenage girl (hereafter referred to as “Spaz”) comes tearing into the bathroom, followed by a gaggle of girlfriends. Spaz is fanning herself and breathing quickly. “Oh my gosh, you guys, I am freaking out. I am FREAKING.OUT!”

The calm one of the group, whom we shall call “Abby,” takes Spaz by the arm. “Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” she says in the most reassuring voice she can muster. She’s not just trying to calm Spaz, but also trying to prevent Spaz’s crazy from taking hold of her. Mass hysteria is a thing to be feared.

Spaz takes some deep breaths. “So Aaron, who is like the CUTEST GUY EVER TO LIVE ON THIS EARTH—”

“Besides Justin Timberlake,” interjects Fan Girl.

“No,” says Spaz, “he’s CUTER than JT. He is the most perfect guy in the world. And I have been in love with him since the moment I saw him. But I don’t know that he even knows I exist. But tonight…TONIGHT!”

At this point, Spaz breaks out into hysterical sobs. Abby goes in for a hug. Fan Girl plays with Spaz’s hair. Another girl, Eager Bystander, is leaning in with tissues.

Spaz finally comes up for air. “Tonight, he like — looked at me. Like he could see me. And oh my gosh, guys, I think he might ask me to dance or something. And I just — I just can’t — I don’t know that I’m ready. I just — I DON’T KNOW!” And Spaz resumes sobbing. More tissues are handed out. Hugs become tighter. A wave of sympathy sniffles is heard.

Teenage Me, at this point, would desperately want to ask how if she was so in love how she could be so averse to the idea of dancing with him. Or how she could be so sure he was looking at her and/or wanted to dance with her. (Yes, Teenage Me was kind of a buzzkill.) Or — if he genuinely did want to ask her to dance — how she expected to have her magical junior high dance moment with him if she was weeping in the bathroom all night. But I kept my mouth shut and gave sympathetic nods and helped Eager Bystander pass out tissues.

And the gaggle of girls would keep talking and crying and hugging until they came to the decision to re-emerge on the dance floor. But then someone else in the group would have a crisis, and it’s back to the bathroom. I’m pretty sure I spent more time in impromptu bathroom meetings than I did actually participating in any events during my junior and senior high school years.

Eventually the hormones settled down and the bathroom meetings became less weepy, but the tradition continues. Going in groups is sacred female law.

So now that I’ve given you a glimpse into this world, here are my recommendations for how to make the ladies’ room more meeting friendly:

• Have tissue dispensers on hand. Spaz could have used some. They’re also good for makeup repair.
• There should be a large gathering area separate from the toilet area. Few things are worse than when you’re in the middle of an intense conversation and you have to get out of the way so that people can actually get to the toilets. And then you have to break up the group again to let them get out of the toilet stalls and get to the sinks. Rude!
• In the meeting area, there should be comfy chairs. I have actually seen some bathrooms with this set up, mainly in upscale department stores. It’s really nice.
• Put a drinking fountain or water cooler inside the lounge area. (But away from the toilets, because gross.) Spaz might have been able to calm down faster if she could get a drink.
• Mints. Lots and lots of free mints.

Any bathroom designers out there — please take note. These changes would greatly improve our experience. Ladies, what do we think? What would you like to see in public restrooms? Share your thoughts in the comments. I’ll read them in a bit. First, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. For real. Any emotional teenagers best stay out of my way.