The following is a letter I am writing 18 months too late to a man I would like to call Mr. Bates, for reasons you may or may not figure out.
Dear Mr. Bates,
It’s been long, and I hope you have been well. You may not remember me so I will try to refresh your memory. About 2 years ago, we first met made eye contact in the men’s toilet stall on the second floor of building 8, in Dubai Media City. I was at the basins washing my hands, and you came out of the toilet stall behind me, stood next to me and began washing your hands too. Our eyes met through the wall-to-wall mirror on the facility and your pursed-lips expression that acknowledged my presence (which I politely returned) is something which I grew accustomed to over the next few months, until, for completely different reasons, I decided to change jobs and forever move away from that building. Yes, Mr. Bates. It is I.
The reason I write to you is this – sir, with all due respect, I am completely aware of what you were up to in that toilet stall, and although I do not hold it against you, I do have a few suggestions, which I have only now managed to collect my thoughts on. Let me start off by saying that what you were doing in that toilet stall is not totally unacceptable as an occurrence, but as an every day, post-lunch habit, it gets a little too much for the rest of us. What, you ask innocently? Huh, you respond in pretend aloofness. What is this skinny Indian guy talking about? Pfft, you say. Don’t know what he’s on about, you say to your mates, shrugging. Well, let me tell you asshole – I know you were flogging your log in there. You were giving your monkey it’s daily spanking. Peeling your banana. Freeing the willies. Petting your python. Chocking your chicken. Tuning your mantenna. Playing a flute solo. Need I spell it out? Dude, I know you were jerking off in there. That day, and many days following that. And we kept making eye contact after your episodes. Somehow, it wasn’t strange for you, but it was way awkward for me, and I’m sure some other guy on that floor is currently going through the same shit I went through back then. So here’s some advice. Free.
1. Choice of stall: As a rule, when you decide you want to do yourself a favor in the men’s room, the last thing you want is to be in a stall that has stalls on both sides. Go to the corner stall, the one that has one wall. That way, you only have one guy on your side. And plus, think about it. Those stalls next to you are used for one thing only. With two guys on either side taking a dump, how are you going to keep it up?
2. Keeping it on the down-low: It feels good, we know. But, please, let that remain for us as knowledge, and not an audio experience. Heavy breathing supported by sounds of you rubbing one out, and an eventual gasp of relief are really not recommended. We hear you, and we know what you just did. And we’re happy for you. But that’s about it. This one time, I think you got really excited and even let out an “aah”, and dude, seriously, not cool.
3. Prime time: Most of us have lunch between 1pm and 2pm. Following that we have a smoke, and right after that smoke, we need to hit the shit can. I don’t know why, but be just do. Bro, if you’re listening, that really isn’t a good time to occupy one stall so you can drive a stick-shift. Or, wait a minute, are you doing it while you’re taking a dump? Because, if any thing is totally vomit-inducing, it’s that.
4. Be a dude about it: You’re in there, and in your own world. Understandable. But once you’re done, and coming back to your senses, it requires very little concentration to figure out that there are other people in the toilet facility, and they probably by now, know what you were doing in there. And trust me, they don’t want to see your face. You’ve spent some quality time in there, now wait it out. Wait until everyone who knows what you were doing has left the place. If any new people walk in while you wait, it’s okay, because they don’t know any better. Don’t walk out and stand next to the guy (me) who is horrified by your act as it is. It’s nasty.
And that, Mr. Bates, are my general toilet manners, which I think you should follow. Should you be upset or offended by any of them, please understand that my pain is much more.
See you later masturbator,
Noman Ali.
PS: I’m not a skinny Indian guy; I’m a skinny Pakistani guy. Thank you.
