For a good time, call...

Ok. I honestly don’t get it. First off, who heads into a bathroom stall wielding a marker? Packing a properly working writing utensil is the least of my concerns when I use a public restroom. Whatever is floating in the toilet bowl – yes. Toilet paper status - yes. Whatever liquid is on the floor and/or toilet seat – check. Contracting crabs and other diseases from the toilet seat – yes yes. Keeping my coat and bag away from all previously mentioned liquids and bacteria – yes. But remembering my heavy duty permanent marker? No. The scrap of paper bearing all 12 stanzas of my favorite poem by Keats? No. Just no.

But apparently I am missing something because bathroom graffiti has not only endured the test of time, it has progressed (for lack of a better word) from the “For a good time call...” and “Katie likes dick” variety (though there's still plenty o' that around) to full on discussion forums. People in NYU's library bathroom stall number 2 practically have a book club going.

Upon a recent visit to the w.c. at Think Coffee by Washington Square Park, I found the following on a tiny square of wall above the trash can:

Person #1: “Im getting an MFA.”

Person #2: crossed out the “n” in “an” and after MFA wrote “hopefully not in English.”

Person #3: pointed to person #2’s comment and wrote, “Actually it is ‘an MFA,' but ‘Im’ should be ‘I’m.’”

Person #4: “In the time it took you to read this, 10 people just died.”

Oh NYU students.

Next time, I'll have to remember to bring, not a marker, but a camera with which to capture the many musings, hopes, dreams, public service announcements, and snarky criticisms inscribed on those four teeny tiny walls.

Bathroom graffiti. Get you, I don't. Love you? I think maybe I do...