Toilet Nazi
I have a confession to make.

I'm a Toilet Nazi.

Not in my own home, I hasten to add. Nor in the homes of friends, or indeed any household toilet. No, I'm only a Toilet Nazi at work.

The office toilet I use houses two urinals, two cubicles, two sinks and a rollatowel. There are a number of such toilets in the building. About 40 men use this one.

Maybe it's the Englishman in me, but I believe there's an etiquette in casual toilet encounters.
I've just re-read that, and it doesn't quite sound as I intended.

Maybe I'm repressed when it comes to my ablutions. I know that toilet habits differ from place to place. Apparently, the French shit into a massive pit in the centre of Paris, or so I'm told. That's fine, to each his own... to a point. All I know is that when I'm having a little private time on the loo, there are things people do that make my blood boil. And if I wasn't sat with my pants round my ankles, I would happily kill people who commit these most cardinal of sins. And I could flush their battered remains down the pan, too, with the minimum of fuss.

Here's some of the unforgivable errors people make. Anyone doing these deserves gassing. And being in a gentleman's lavatory, gassing is a big possibility.

Sin Number One: Space

When I go to a urinal, I expect people to consider my personal space. If I take the furthest urinal from the entrance, the correct urinal for the next would-be pisser is the urinal equidistant between the door and myself. This gives the participants in the urine ballet no apprehensions about the new bloke.
If the wrong spot at the watering hole is chosen, it can lead to thoughts such as these:
"He's standing too close! He wants an eyeful of my meaty goodness. I must stab him."
"He's standing too far away! Is he ashamed of his little boy? Is he diseased? I must stab him."
"He's pissing into the sink! Is he some sort of animal? Now he's wiping his goods on the rollatowel! I must stab him."
As you can see, incorrect toilet placement can lead to stabbings nine times out of ten.
At my work, there are two urinals per mensroom. There should be a note pinned to the mensroom door: 'If one urinal is occupied, piss in a cubicle! Don't make me get my knife out.'
Then everyone would be happy.

Sin Number Two: Talking

I'm stood at the urinal, gently venting. A collegue approaches, unzips, and stands next to me. The cubicles are empty. Overlooking the sinful faux pas of not using a cubicle for his piss, the guy begins to chat.
"So, did you see the match last night?"
Shut the fuck up.
I do not want to stand chatting about football with someone I am not particularly friendly with. Especially while we both have our cocks out, and are shaking them. Respect my space, and my silence.
Talking in a toilet can lead anywhere. What starts as manly grunts over sporting triumphs soon becomes bitching about wives and girlfriends, and before you know it, you're both locked in a bear hug, crying "I love you, man", dripping warm yellow piss down each other's trouser leg.
And if you're stood, chap in hand, and hear the phrase "Any idea what these pustules are? They go the length of the shaft, and they seep green goo", run for the hills!
Honest to god, next time someone chats to me when I'm pissing, I'll spin round in mock shock and let rip all over their shoes.

Sin Number Three: Cubicle Hierarchy Abuse

This is my own particular bugbear. When I enter a cubicle for the obvious, I'm entering my own private world. The thin walls represent a force-field through which nothing should penetrate. I'll usually enter with a book or newspaper, and I'll be there some time.
The main thrust of my problem lies with the occupancy of the remaining cubicle. Naturally, it's a binary value- the cubicle is either occupied or empty.
If occupied, then when I enter the other cubicle, I've made a bold and important statement that it's now MY turn to shit. As I'm unbuckling, I'd better be hearing toilet rolls rolling, or tissues being pulled from dispensers. When I sit down, you'd better be flushing up and leaving the cubicle, or it's stabbing time again.
Of course, I return the favour. If I'm on the job and someone arrives in the second stall, I nip it off like a cigar-clipper and make my merry bow-legged way back to the desk. I may have appreciated more time at the altar of Cloaca, but crapping at work is always a gamble.
If you're in the occupied cubicle when I take my place, and you choose not to respect my arrival, I'll probably break down the stall wall and bludgeon you to death with the brown end of the toilet brush.
Just thought I'd let you know.
And another thing, what's with people who exit a cubicle after a shit when the mensroom is still occupied? At least wait until the pissing bloke has dried his hands and scarpered. This spares embarrasment all round, especially if you sit next to the guy all day, and he's overheard your most volcanic eruption since the aftermath of your night at the Vesuvius Curry-House. Give the guy chance to leave the scene of the crime. Hell, if you're in a rush, start spinning the toilet-roll or pulling out excess tissues: these will give the lad ample warning of your departure, and believe me, he'll be glad to be elsewhere when you open the door with an ashen-faced grimace.

Sin Number Four: The Noises...

For the love of pete...
I understand that emptying oneself causes unwarranted and undesireable side effects, I understand that... but why do some people insist of articulating every sly whimper? Noises like this...
*parp* ooohhh...
*poot* jeees....
*boof* christ...
Be Quiet!. I don't need the hideous sounds you're expelling to be accented. What do you think you're doing, supplying an editorial for your innards?
*parp* "wowee!"
*poot* "Phew, that was a doozey!"
*boof* "Hold onto your hat, loo-buddy, she's coming 'round the mountain!"
Just please, please, wait until I've gone before you fire her up. Hell, as soon as you lock the cubicle door, I'm wiping and hiking. Hold 'em in for a few more minutes, ok?

I dunno, maybe these things make me overly cranky. Maybe I just need a little peace and quiet when I'm on the throne.

Deep down, I know I'm being unreasonable.
I know I'm complaining about the most innocuous of habits.
I know I'm a Toilet Nazi
But these things have got to be stopped. Before the whole world goes to the dogs.

One People.
One Reich.
One Toilet.