I remember seeing an interview with Janet Leigh where she said she never took a shower again after “Psycho.” A shower is, indeed, a very isolating place. You can’t see what’s going on outside of it. The sound of water is slightly deafening. You’re naked and alone and, well, that creepy guy a couple doors down could very easily break in, fling open the curtain, and stab you to death until your blood runs cold into the drain.
That’s how I feel about urinals. Think about it, men. We’re completely attackable in there. You’re facing away from the rest of the world. You’re concentrating somewhere else. There’s a social contract that says we don’t touch one another when there, but that’s only as good as the paper it’s written on. Generally speaking, your hands are not available to defend yourself. Someone would easily come up from behind, push you against the heavy metal bulkhead of the urinal and crack your skull wide open.
Have I seen too many action movies? Am I wrong to trust our favorite urinal cake holders? How much do you really trust the people in the men’s room with you in a mall or a movie theater or some random restaurant or diner?
What, did you think I’d just be talking about classical music now?