Waterlogged

Probably one of my most ambivalent habits that I have adopted over the years is the habit of increasing my water intake. When I first moved from my rural environment to the city, drinking water was difficult because I was used to true spring water, literally from underground springs, not the treated stuff I was subjected to here. But I made an adjustment by switching to bottled water and investing in a filtered water pitcher at home. Once again, my water drinking was back on, although not to the capacity it is now.

Of course, I’ve always know the benefits of water. My 100-year-old grandma is a living testament to the power of water; she frequently told us growing up that she always starts her day with it. I’ve always found over the years that the more I drink water, the less shiny my face becomes during the day, and the less likely I am to get any acne issue. In addition, sufficient water keeps your muscles and joints lubricated in a sense, where you aren’t as sore after working out. Of course, it’s also good for your kidneys and your bladder, and the more colorless your urine is, the more likely all those internal organs are functioning properly. In fact, I’ve found that if don’t drink the proper amount of water, my sides where my kidneys are located will start to ache.

Last year, I even found out from listening to The Yolanda Adams Morning Show that the more water you drink, the more it increases weight loss by eventually flushing out the fat cells, making them in effect skinnier. So in an effort test that theory, I started drinking copious amounts of water. With the increased intake of water, I also feel the increased output. On a proper hydration day, my bladder is better than a cuckoo clock, and I find myself going to the restroom almost every hour to the minute. This is where my use of the word ambivalent comes in, not because I have an ambivalent relationship with water—I happen to like drinking it cold, room temperature, or hot—but because I feel ambivalent about the immediate after-effects of water, and that is the need to go to the bathroom more frequently.

When I am at work, I would love to have the physical attributes of a camel—able to drink large amounts of water without going to the bathroom. Do I have that ever present phobia of public restrooms that claims others? Not especially. In fact, I think there’s something rather comforting in the anonymity of a public restroom.

I do, however, have a very specific problem with our public restroom here at my job. For those of you who don’t know, I work at a public community college. I’ve come to the foregone conclusion that we have some of the nastiest female creatures here. Or at the very least, some of the nastiest creatures of the female species inhabit our restrooms.

I understand that women frequently don’t sit on the toilet in public restrooms because of some phobia that our butt cheeks will touch the place where some unknown person’s butt cheeks have been. I get that. And some clever inventor also understood that phobia and invented the disposable toilet seat cover. Why, oh why then is it that I can go to a restroom for women and find all manner of misfiring? I would love to assume that this misfiring comes from standing over the toilet in straddle position and aiming long distance into the bowl. To me, this seems to create more problems with the whole idea of backsplash ricocheting onto our clothing and ourselves. Women are not anatomically built like men, who can aim their pee away from them.

The whole misfire phenomenon is bad enough with number 1, but the day I saw number 2 splattered on the wall was the tipping point. I’ve even suggested that we be allowed to put some additional signage, complete with illustrations—a stick figure with boobs and an anatomically correct toilet would suffice—and arrows that lead to use of the preposition IN, not ON, or AROUND. So far, the facilities management folks have only laughed at my proposal.

As a result of wanting to avoid the restroom, I wait until almost the last possible moment before doing The River Dance. Sometimes this backfires when my favorite stall (the oversized handicapped) has some sort of filth. Then I’m forced to squeeze into the smaller ones. On the rarest of occasions, all three are foul. By then, it’s oftentimes too late to change my mind and go upstairs to the private staff restrooms, so I’m usually faced with the dilemma of having to foot flush, or worst case scenario, wipe up someone else’s pee (I refuse to even contemplate messing with anyone else’s number 2).

I even have other problems with public restrooms that far supersede this post. I’ll post that later as it was previous post from years past.

After all that, I take back my statement. I most definitely have a phobia. I don’t think I’ll drink my water until I get home this evening.