Today, I met a man who works in the industry of toilets, and, oddly enough, I met him in a public restroom. People who read books usually like the author to vividly paint the setting for them using words and descriptions. Considering the place and circumstance, these same people, or other people, probably don’t want extensive details, but here you go. It was sterile and there was muzak playing. Now on with the story.

I was standing at the urinal thinking about something (I can’t quite remember what), when this guy comes up to the urinal next to me. Now I don’t make a practice out of initiating conversations with strangers in public facilities such as this, but this man obviously had no inhibitions. “They don’t make these babies like they used to, ” he commented. “Pardon me?” was all I could muster to this statement.

“The urinals…nowadays whenever you’ve finished, all you gotta do is walk away and then BAM! (yes, he said this out loud, and, yes, it startled me) they’ll flush. I remember when I first got in the business, we were impressed just to see these babies hang on the wall, but now…”

“So you’re in the toilet business?”

“For twenty-eight years last month. You in college, kid?”

“No, I graduated a couple of years ago.”

“Gradutate, huh? Well, kid, if you’re looking for job security, you should consider toilets. Because as long as this world is going ’round, these babies will always be demand. Good talking to you.”

(The action during this dialogue included our use of the urinals and washing hands, so when he said “…Good talking to you.” He walked out the door.)

As he walked out, I first thought to myself, what a weird guy. But as I was leaving the restroom, it dawned on me. I thought to myself again, you know, the toilet connoisseur has a valid point. Toilets are similar to blue jeans in the sense that they’re not the current fad, but they’ll always be the “in” thing. Until this world experiences an apocolyptic act (meteor strikes the earth, violent plate tectonics shift, etc.), toilets will always be around and fashionable. Unlike toilets, however, blue jeans will probably survive and be around after the day of apocolypse.

All this talk of toilets and blue jeans takes me back to when I was in the Ukraine on a mission trip with the Joshua Squad. Anyone who has ever been to a third world country will be able to appreciate this next segment. For those who haven’t been to one of these countries, there are small establishments called “outhouses” where people use the restroom. They are nothing like our “port-a-potties”. It consists of a concrete floor with a hole in the middle, and they possess the most nauseating, rank, sordid, (any disgusting adjective you can think of) smell I have ever known. It was a place you walked by once; afterwards, you developed new routes if the “outhouse” was between point A and point B.

I had been in the Ukraine for three days, and the inevitable moment came. The moment when I was gonna have to occupy the aforementioned establishment. I started making my way there, pondering on all of the horrific stories some of my colleagues shared about their time at the “outhouse”. As I kept walking, my stomach began to ache. I was attributing my pain to my mental hesitance to use the restroom, but as I kept walking, the ache grew worse and worse. By the time I was fifty feet away from the “outhouse”, I could hardly move because my stomach was in so much pain. Eddie, another member of the Joshua Squad, saw me in my wretched state, and asked, “You alright, man?” Did I look alright? “No, I replied, in fact, my stomach feels terrible.”

“Maybe you should go see Dr. Steve.” (Dr. Steve was a medical doctor who came with our team. Steve wasn’t his real name; I forgot his real name, but for name’s sake, this is what we’ll call him.)

“Yeah, I think I’ll go pay the good doctor a visit.” And so I changed my course.

Dr. Steve was in his office, so to speak. He told me that we would have to have a quick appointment, because he had to look at some of the orphans at the camp. I said, fine, and he began to examine me. After twenty minutes of basic check-ups, which included the tongue depressor, checking my reflexes, etc., he pulled out his stethoscope and started pressing it on my stomach. After several moments, he looked up as if to say “Eureka!”; instead he said, “I know what your problem is, Guinn.” “What is it?” I eagerly asked.

“It’s not a necessarily common case in the U.S., but it can be for U.S. citizens when they go to third-world or developing countries.”

“What is it then? Typhoid, dysentery, Perestroika’s Revenge (this is the disease often referred to as Montezuma’s Revenge, but Montezuma was in Mexico, not a former Soviet state)?” I was growing anxious.

“Nothing that extreme. To put it simply, your intestines are telling you not to go to the restroom.”

“My intestines?”

“Yes, you see are an American, and therefore have American intestines. They react to the odors that surround you in your everyday life. Tell me, do you ever notice that you when you use the restroom somewhere other than your room, that you seem a little uncomfortable?”

“I guess, but I thought that was more of a psychological fear, not physical.”

“It may seem that way, but in truth, you psyche is reacting to your body. When you feel a twinge, that’s your intestines telling you that they’re not willing to do what you will force them to do.”

I paused for a long time, and then asked, “So what kind of doctor did you say you were?”

He smiled and replied, “I like to consider myself a people doctor. Now, Guinn, I’d love to discuss this, but I really must be going to check on the orphans. My recommendation to you is to ignore the urge until we go into town.” And with that statement, he handed me some IBProfen, and then exited.

Days later, after we had gone into to town and I done the dirty deed, I looked back on this ordeal and realized something. This whole scenario could be viewed as a social commentary on how American society has become. You see, it’s gotten to the point where even our intestines act like spoiled brats.