There was a time—allegedly—when public restrooms operated under a quiet, unspoken social contract.
No one spoke or made eye contact. They handled their business with the urgency and discretion of people who understood the assignment.
That time is over.
Civilization is hanging by a thread, and that thread is located somewhere between the third stall at Target and whatever is happening near the sinks.
Let’s start with the phone talkers.
Who are you? Why are you like this? Why are you conducting a full, emotionally layered conversation in a public restroom like this is your office and not a space where every sound is aggressively amplified?
No one on the other end of that call needs to hear the echo.. the flush.. the context clues. And yet—you persist. Loudly. Confidently. As if this is normal behavior.
It is not.
Then we have the stall door slammers. There is a very specific level of aggression required to close a stall door the way some of you do, and it is never accidental. It’s personal.
You walk in and immediately BANG like you’re announcing your arrival to the entire zip code. We jump and wonder what kind of emotional event just led to that level of force.
This is not a Western saloon. You do not need to make an entrance.
And then… the hoverers. You know exactly who you are. The people who refuse to sit and instead attempt a mid-air squat like this is an Olympic event you are wildly unqualified for.
Now listen—I understand the intent. I do. We’ve all walked into a stall and immediately lost faith in humanity.
But hovering is not the solution. Hovering is how we got here.
You think you’re avoiding the problem. You ARE the problem.
Because hovering leads to… let’s call it creative outcomes. And now the seat is worse. For everyone.
So the next person walks in, sees the situation, and says, “Absolutely not,” and they hover.
And just like that —we’ve created a full-cycle disaster where no one sits, no one aims, and no one wins. All we have left are sticky floors.
And can we talk about the people who choose the stall directly next to you when there are six open ones?
This is not a bonding experience. This is not solidarity. This is a space where distance is not only preferred—it is expected.
Give people space. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.
Same goes for the small talkers.
Nothing—and I mean nothing—has ever needed to be said between two strangers in a public restroom.
Not:
“Busy today?”
“Love your shoes.”
“Crazy weather.”
No. We are not doing this here.
This is a silent, transactional environment. We enter. We pretend no one exists. We leave. That’s the deal.
And yet… the rules are gone.
We’ve got people FaceTiming. We’ve got door slammers performing live. We’ve got hoverers creating a biohazard feedback loop. We’ve got casual conversations happening next to hand dryers like this is a networking event.
It’s too much.
All I’m asking for is a return to basics: minimal noise, maximum efficiency, and zero interaction.
We don’t need perfection. We just need… standards.
Because right now the only thing standing between us and complete societal collapse is a lock on a stall door that may or may not work—and honestly, that feels optimistic.