Not in the Men's Room

There's certain etiquette involved in using public restrooms. I don't know if women have the same unspoken rules, but there are things that you don't do in the men's room:

• You don't look over the little divider at the equipment of your neighbor.
• You don't use the urinal next to a guy when you can use one that gives you a buffer.
  
• You don't make eye contact with a person while you or he have your equipment unsheathed.
  
• You don't ever touch anyone.

Everyone knows these, right?


So I'm in the bathroom in the Talmage building (which is where the computer and math nerds spent most of their time at BYU) blowing my nose. (I have a cold.) There's a dandruff-ridden fellow (somehow typical of people in my major) pacing the bathroom, apparently waiting for a toilet stall to open up. He looks at me and says something unintelligible. I hadn't really paid him any mind until now, so I have to ask him what he said.

"Rub me the wrong way," he repeats to me. I think I just looked at him blankly, not knowing what the heck he was talking about, and half-wondering if he was threatening me in some kind of "I'll bring a gun to school next time" way. You know, like when that guy in the bar tells Luke Skywalker that he doesn't like him, right before trying to kill him.

Then I realize that he's making some kind of joke about my shirt. It says "Rub me for luck."

"Oh, my shirt. Yeah." I turn away from him and start washing my hands, hoping that if I ignore him he'll ignore me. I'm not even looking at him. I'm just washing my hands. Minding my own business.


Before I know what's happening, the fellow comes up and puts his arms around me, and starts singing "Shake that thing" from the Sean Paul song.

My brain went into panic mode here, I think, and I just turned around and walk briskly out the door. I didn't say anything or even look at him. For some reason, I still managed to grab a paper towel on the way out to dry my hands.