Restroom Tourism

I've noticed something quirky about my brother-in-law: every time we patronize (in a good way) a public establishment, he feels compelled to have a look-see at the men's facilities. I've never asked him why he insists on investigating public restrooms (I'm too shy to ask), but I'm pretty sure his guileless answer would be something like this: "I just had to see."

I think Bro-In-Law is onto something, though. I'm sure you remember that syrupy adage that drips right off the pages of altogether too many self-help books: Show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are. Well, I say Show me your restroom and I can see right through you. Try it. It's true. I've tested it. You can deduce oodles of things about a person's very nature by peeking at his or her loo.

Let's give my theory a whirl, shall we?

The restroom at my Kung Fu school is a spartan 9X9 gray-tiled space with nary a photo or a plastic plant to gladden the room. You've got your privy, your sink, your stainless steel waste receptacle, and your paper towel dispenser. That's all, folks.

What does this say about the people who train at my martial arts facility? That we Kung Fuers are a bare-faced, practical lot who don't need nothing sprucing up our walls because we're way too busy thinking about kicking your butt. Also, we need a bathroom as big as your guest bedroom so we can cartwheel our way over to the toilet.

Another noteworthy restroom I alighted on once said something like I'm so glad you've come to call. I got all dressed up in my Sunday finery when I got word of your arrival. Oh, do try one of my shell-shaped soaps.

Another: We eat spicy refried beans here. Lots of them.

Tour a few restrooms on your next outing, will you? Restroom-based character analysis simply doesn't backfire. (Did you see the pun just there?) You won't be bummed. (I did it again.)