Interrogation by The Bathroom Police

There is this thing that I do that annoys the heck out of my family. Well, to be honest, there are a lot of things, but I am thinking of one thing in particular.

Whenever someone is in the bathroom for what I determine to be an abnormally long period of time, I stand outside the bathroom door and yell,

“EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE?”

I don’t know if it’s a woman thing or a mom thing or a Jewish thing, or maybe a combination of all three. It’s definitely not a guy thing because when the guy in question exits the bathroom, he glares at me and asks me why I do that.

“Do what?” I respond.

“Ask me if everything is okay. What are you, the Bathroom Police?”

“Well, I just want to make sure you ARE okay,” I stammer.

“If I am NOT okay, I will either yell for help, or slip a piece of toilet paper under the door that says, “I’m constipated. Call 911.”

I shrug. “I can’t help myself.”

“What are you worried might be happening in there?” He wonders. “I’ve fallen into the toilet and drowned? Hit myself in the head with the plunger and got a concussion? Climbed out the window and ran off with some woman who doesn’t ask me if everything is okay when I’m in the bathroom too long?”

“Not the first one,” I respond. “Possibly the second. Definitely the third.”

I’m not actually sure why I ask that question. I think it comes from the days when the kids were little and new at the whole bathroom thing. Although I understood that part of them feeling grown up was having privacy in the bathroom, I was nevertheless concerned that they would break some toilet taboo like not get their pants down the whole way, not wipe well enough, or, heaven forbid, miss the toilet completely. Since this was most likely to happen at someone else’s house, it had the effect of making me a nervous wreck whenever one of the kids announced they “had to go.” For a while I tried the old, “Can you hold it in?” plea, but when their face would start to turn blue and the legs started to cross, followed by the telltale crotch grab and the “gotta go now” dance, I knew I had to give in and let the chips fall where they may, or rather, the pee fly where it did.

So I got into the habit of standing outside the bathroom door and asking, “Everything okay?” which loosely translated to, “Do I need to come in there with a mop and bucket and hazmat suit?”

Soon, I was asking everybody who used our bathroom the same question: The kids, my husband, visiting relatives, friends and dignitaries who were in the bathroom just a little too long.

(note to readers: When the Dalai Lama uses your bathroom, it is not necessary to ask if everything is okay in there. If it is not, he will get it right in his next life).

Although I knew it was not really appropriate to keep track of someone’s bathroom time and then question their status when I decided they had been in there too long, I still had trouble shaking the habit. This is when I realized I didn’t need to stop asking the question, I just had to find the appropriate time to use it.

So the next time I let the dog out to do his business and it took him a while to come back in, I felt perfectly fine yelling out the back door, “Everything okay out there??”

He doesn’t typically respond. But then again, neither did the Dalai Lama.

©2012, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

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0 thoughts on “Interrogation by The Bathroom Police

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