The Last Stall

Ah the last stall in the bathroom. The last bastion of urban, commercial privacy. Even the pungent musk of an open air debris yard seems tolerable. A place where a man can be alone with his thoughts, his email, his game on his phone...giving way to a new definition of Blackberry.
Why am I so attracted to the last stall? Admittedly, I get excited on my potty break when I enter the lavatory and see it's door laying open oh so gently as if to welcome me home. I know there is no true privacy in a public bathroom, but there is something about the far toilet that gives you a since of solidarity. It is a place where a man is only identifiable by the shoes he is wearing.

Other than the door being closed, no one really knows for sure if you are in there. An embarrasing door check provides the only true answer followed by an awkward "Occupado." Patrons come and go, risking their own humility by breaking wind at the urinals or making noises that should be saved for deucing at home, taking a chance that they too are alone.

There is just something about that last stall that makes me feel secure and confident. It lends itself to brilliant ideas such as this one. I realize this is not my first post regarding the bathroom, but when you spend as much time there as I do...

And flush.