Using ye olde public restroom

I think it's about time I talk about a subject millions of people across this good nation tend to avoid, quite possibly because those who have experienced it have been left with more emotional scarring than visitors to Neverland Ranch.

And what's even worse is that we are subjected to this travesty numerous times throughout our lives, well aware that each time something will go awry, causing victims great anguish, nausea and, in most cases, severe bouts of depression. I am, of course, talking about using a public restroom.

Men and women differ greatly when it comes to their definition of a toiletry horror. Women tend to complain about the lack of items they physically need in order for a more well-rounded restroom experience, such as a better smelling hand soap or toilet paper embroidered with pink smiley faces. And they will usually do this complaining in groups of no less than five other women, some of whom they never met before going into the bathroom.

Many well-respected historians believe this kind of female herding mentality originated during Henry VIII's reign when, during a rather awkward blind date, the damsel in distress shot an arrow into the night with a note attached for her girlfriends that read: "Hooked me up with beheader. Meet me in ye olde restroom."

Men, however, are quite the opposite when using a bathroom. In fact, if the fate of the world depended on two guys simply making eye contact in a restroom, we would surely enter a nuclear holocaust where even, yes, American Idol episodes would be edited down to a mere 12 hours a week. As guys, our need for personal space increases greatly in such a setting, so my assumption is that whoever invented the urinal was a husband and wife team where the wife obviously won the argument.

Man: "Honey, I'm not sure if your idea will work. Guys can't relieve themselves when they're standing so close to each other. Sure, we may put on a tough act, but, sweetie, we're as fragile and emotional as women."

Woman: "Fred, that is THE most ridiculous thing I have EVER heard! Now pee in this and shut up! I brought your poker buddies over to hover."

San Diego psychologist Victor Kops, who was most likely accosted by a urinal as a child, even goes so far as to call the inability to use such a contraption (drum roll, please!) urinalphobia. Seriously. Suffering from the condition himself, he goes on to say that many men across the country have the same problem (probably just to make himself feel better).

And last, but not least, let's discuss the highly choreographed bathroom exit the health-conscious minority use to escape the germs of bathroom-users less knowledgeable in the field of bathroom etiquette, because judging by the condition of the bathroom, you are undeniably the cleanest and most sane person within a five-mile radius.

My routine usually consists first of flushing (with my hands at a urinal, feet if using a stall), then I wash my hands using a soap from a dispenser, which, if it's anything like the ones used in my middle school, have not been replaced since the week the Titanic set sail. Finally I use the paper towels I dried my hands with to carefully pry open the door and, if the trash can is close enough, I prop the door with my foot and suavely toss them in. If it's not within arm's length, I push the door fully open, run to the trash can and finally sprint out the door right as it closes behind me.

It may sound like a scene from "Mission Impossible," but after years of experience, impossible is hardly a word I would use to describe the situation.

But having toilet paper embroidered with smiley faces might make the job easier. Not pink of course. Something manly -- like a burgundy or navy.

Sam DeReign is a student at Southeast Missouri State University.