In some obscure circles a discussion about meeting strangers in public washrooms invariably leads to the hypothesis that the strangers are from alternate dimensions. Some astute members of these circles go so far as to insist that portals to other dimensions are prompted by the abundant accumulation of porcelain in these locations. The laid back, open minded members squeeze their chins and nod in possibility. But that’s not sufficient evidence enough for the more aggressive debaters who gesticulate absurdity in the ceramic hypothesis. Those overbearing individuals, and individual they are, seem to regard strangers from other dimensions, who lurk in public washrooms are there for the same reasons as the strangers in their own dimension- that being, an obvious urgent need to use the facilities.
This popular discussion can go on for hours. Temporary conclusions that chemical analysis of the room’s tile grout need be taken. Assertions that the chrome plumbing be tested for radio activity and Ph reading of the urinal flush water be measured. The chin squeezing, open minded of the group will vigorously nod their heads. A uniquely persistant member will remind everyone of the effect of the sheer weight of porcelain involved, at which point much face-palming ensues. Another well read member of the group will quote that, “The devil is in the details.” And a respectful pause is observed.
It’s a while before the discussion turns it’s focus on the strangers themselves. A new member of the group suddenly gets an epiphany, “What makes these strangers from another dimension strange?”… Several lower lips are extended and heads slowly move up and down. The definition of strange needs to be defined. Where are these other dimensional strangers from? What truly is their purpose there? When are they most likely to appear in the public washrooms? Who can positively identify them? “Why are they here?” Someone from the back of the group pipes in. He is tersely informed that the why of the matter was long ago agreed upon, because ‘they too need to use the facilities’. “Why don’t they use the washrooms in their own dimension?” asks the same discontented speaker. Eyes roll, arms are folded and heavy air is exhaled through multiple sets of nostrils. Another mandatory pause is observed.
An interlude of childhood memories about public washroom experiences is shared.An open minded participant remembers going into a washroom in the basement floor of an old department store, the washroom also happened to be connected to the subway by a dark, tile-lined tunnel shaped stairway. He remembered a strange man who wore a thick wool suit and a large hat who stood back from a stain etched, vertical floor urinal, pulled one panel of his jacket aside and without touching his male genitalia, urinated into the receptacle and then spit a loogey in after. That definitely in the speaker’s opinion was a stranger from another dimension.
Not to be left out of the lively discussion, another group member recalled how during his tenure in reform school, he and a group of his fellow juvees were loitering in a school lavatory when they heard the most grotesque sounds and smelled the most offensive odors coming out of the last toilet stall. The noises and smells were so horrific they had to wait and see who occupied the stall so they could later torment and forever embarrass and the kid. They waited for over half an hour and endured the most disgusting bodily excretions until they agreed not to wait any longer and kick the door of the stall in to find out. Much to their surprise, just before kicking the door, they all heard a gushing flush. But no one opened the stall door. The fellow telling the story had jumped up on the seat of the neighboring stall toilet and peeked over the metal divider. He swore he was never so surprised in his entire time at the reform school. When he told what he saw, his mates didn’t believe him and kicked the door open anyway. They discovered the stall empty.
Eyebrows raised at this point of the story. Then in the back of the group, someone suggested, “Maybe the guy flushed himself into the next dimension.”… A smattering of repressed chuckles jiggled the group.
“It’s all about the porcelain.” repeated a member tired of the stroll down memory lane. Yes they all agreed. All the porcelain fixtures and tiled walls and floors seemed to form a sort of crucible for electro-magnetic waves to transfer matter from one dimension to the other. All elements conjoined played some role in the frequent appearance of strangers from other dimensions appearing in public washrooms, but none of the group could conclusively come up with a solid explanation why. With the discussion winding down, the group finished up by washing their hands and drying them under hot air blowers- then one by one, they all left the confines of the washroom via a paranormal method of their choosing.
