Wishing for a musical flush…

When I was living in Japan, I developed an addiction to the computerized toilets that not only clean, wash and blow dry but also allow me to select the temperature of the water, the pressure of the stream and even the frequency of the spray. However, I never really appreciated the musical toilets, which play a soft melody or a cascading tune or just repeat the sound of running water, until today.

Earlier this afternoon, I entered the bathroom at work, chose the stall with the slightly jarred door and pushed it open, causing the hinges to creak. I latched the lock into place and then pulled some toilet paper out of the dispenser in order to line the seat. As I unzipped my trousers, pulled them down and squatted into place, I suddenly realized that I was not alone. In the next stall, khaki pant legs rested on black immobile shoes (if they had been white, I would call them nursing shoes). Although we were separated by a wall and could not see one another, the sudden realization that someone else was in the room, especially after having just pulled my pants down (even though she couldn’t see me), made me acutely self-conscious. To make matters worse, the silence was deafening. There was no movement nor any sound from my neighbor: no breathing, no tussling of paper, no creaking of the toilet seat, no sight or sound of any movement. I could not even hear the sound of the ventilation system, which usually provides a bit of white noise distraction. The only sound I heard was the loud ticking of a clock. “There’s a clock in the bathroom?” I asked myself. I had never noticed it nor heard it before.

Some men complain that they can not relieve themselves when another person is watching them; performance anxiety or something. I suppose I felt a bit of that, but instead of performance anxiety, I felt uncomfortable with the silence. It was too quiet and it didn’t feel natural. I knew she was there, she knew I was there, but neither of us knew who the other was. If we had both entered at the same time and knew each other, it would have been different. We would probably be chatting instead of remaining as quiet as mice, expecting the other to make the first move. I waited as long as I could to listen for any little disturbances or noises from my neighbor, but nothing. I finally broke the silence with my own trickle and wondered what the person next to me was doing; I still could not hear a peep from her.

I’m pretty fast when I need to do my business. I usually have my pants unzipped before I have even shut the doors to the stall and then as soon as I am done, I’m pulling up my pants and then flushing the toilet in succession. This time I was even faster. Relief eased over me as the silence in the room washed away with the flushing of the toilet. I felt even better as I turned on the water faucet and pumped the soap dispenser (squish, squish, squish), washed my hands (splash, splash, splash), and then cranked the paper towel roller (creak, creak, creak) to dry my hands.

Perhaps the ‘musical’ distraction used so often in Japanese bathrooms is not to mask the noises that one makes, but rather to break the silence that must be endured in such close quarters, doing what comes naturally to all, but which often can feel so
embarrassingly unnatural in the intimate presence of a stranger.

~ by djangoqueen on April 22, 2009.