On Friday night I became trapped in a bathroom.  It wasn’t a literal trapping - there wasn’t some sort of bathroom lockdown that occurred which prevented me to leave, and no-one had set a bear trap in the cubical or anything, it was more of a social trapping.

Dylan and I had just played a show at the Octopus Garden in St James, and before settling down to chat to the friends who had come along to the gig, I thought I’d make a quick stop to the bathroom.  (If you must know, it was for a number one.  The bathrooms at Octopus Gardens are unisex, so I think most people adhere to the standard embarrassment avoiding practise at unisex bathrooms, which is refraining from dropping the kids off at the pool.)

The bathroom space is incredibly small at Octopus Garden.  There are only two cubicles, and a basin.  This means if you need the bathroom, but both cubicles are occupied, you start congregating in a very tiny area next to the basin.  This probably happens more often than not, because one of the problems with the cubicles is that there is no way of telling if anyone is in them, without doing the awkward ‘try open the door and hope for the best’ thing.

I for one HATE the ‘try open the door and hope for the best’ method of cubicle selection, because I never know if you should say anything if your attempts fail.  If you’re the initiator of the door opening process, do you apologise when you realise that it has actually been locked, or, is there some sort of silent understanding between you and the cubicle dweller you disturbed.  Also, if you are the cubicle dweller, should you say something when disturbed?  Should you say, “Sorry, I’m in here”, or should you try say something encouraging and helpful like, “Sorry, I’m in here, but you know, I should be done in two minutes so hang in there buddy.”

Fortunately on Friday night I selected the right cubicle - which was actually the left cubicle.

About a minute after entering the cubicle, two girls came into the bathroom and starting talking.  They started talking about the band which had just played, and thus the social trapping began.  The one started saying that she didn’t know a band would be playing that night, and she had just randomly came through and had really enjoyed it, then the other girl told her what we were called, and so the conversation revolved around The Brothers Streep for a good while, before it began to focus on when the cubicles were going to become free.

Maybe I’m overly sensitive to potential social awkwardness, but in that moment, my brain told me that it would be strange if I left the bathroom after they had just been indirectly talking about me.  Although they hadn’t said anything particularly good or bad which could have made the situation worse, I still thought it would be strange if they were talking about the band, and then one of the band members walks out – I would have felt like some sort of bathroom spy, sneakily listening in on other people’s conversations, loitering in bathrooms to collect honest feedback from unsuspecting ablutionists.

Had I been a more confident man, the moment they mentioned the band, I should have just said, “Glad you enjoyed the show!”, then burst through my cubicle door and said, “All yours!”, washed my hands, and heroically left the scene.  But rather, I kept quiet, and by not making my presence known, I committed to having to stay in the cubicle until both the ladies left.

And then my friend Steve entered the bathroom, which now had three people waiting for a cubicle.

Steve’s arrival offered a glimmer of hope, as he discovered that the cubicle on the right had been unoccupied all along, which potentially meant things would speed up a bit, and the ladies would leave so that I could then do the same.

But Steve, knowing one of the ladies who was waiting, also decided to be vocal about the fact that whoever was in the left cubicle had been in there for a very long time, implying that I was negotiating the release of chocolate hostages, and that something had gone wrong in the negotiations.

So now I had two reasons not to leave the cubicle.

Eventually one of the ladies left, and because Steve needed the bathroom more urgently than the remaining lady, he claimed cubicle rights.  And because I knew Steve, and was getting incredibly tired of having to stay in the bathroom, I thought if I try play some form of practical joke on Steve, it might at least give me some vaguely logical reason for being in the bathroom for such a long time.

And that’s why I started scrunching up bits of toilet paper and throwing it into Steve’s cubicle.  It wasn’t a great solution to any problem, but it seemed to make sense at the time.  Steve started complaining that something strange was happening next door to him, so I left my cubicle, and surprised him when he left his.  There was some shared laughter, and although I had no valid reason to have hid in a bathroom to throw toilet paper at Steve, it seemed good enough.

Of course, Steve then went and introduced me to the lady who had been there the whole time, so at the end of the day, I don’t think I really accomplished anything.  She will now forever know me as that weird guy in the band who didn’t say anything when she was talking about him, who spends an eternity in public bathrooms, and who throws scrunched up toilet paper at his friends.

Ah, the life of a rock star.