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The Guy in the Next Stall Over

By Unknown
“Daddy, guy” my daughter said as she crouched down in the stall of men’s room, pointing at the pair of shoes in the stall next door.

I calmly told her that, yes, there was a guy over there and we had to focus on pottying.

“Daddy, guy” she reiterated.  She crouched down once again, her bottom hovering ever so slightly above the bathroom floor.  She leaned forward, trying desperately to see up under the wall.  “Daddy, guy in there.”

I hadn’t been sure at first whether her interest stemmed from the fact that there was a stall with a toilet next to ours, or whether someone was actually using that stall. 

“Daddy, guy in there.”  Yep, sure enough, there was a man in the stall next to ours.

I need to explain a couple things at this point.  First, the fact that my kids call all strange men “guy” is my fault.  On vacation last year we saw someone sitting on a balcony near where we were staying and I said “Hey, look at the guy.”  For the rest of the vacation they looked for “Guy” outside.  Guy became his name.  Then Guy morphed into the name of everyone the kids didn’t know.

Secondly, this was a Super Bowl party where we knew all the attendees.  So, in all likelihood, I knew, on some level, the Guy in the stall.

It was this background that I watched my daughter perch herself to once again try and see under the wall.  Her neck craned under.

“Daddy, guy.”

What is a Dad to do?

I picked her up, turned her around and confirmed that, yes, there was a guy, but that we were here to potty and should focus on that.  Finally, either from full bladder or my wisdom, she saw it my way.

And then a “plop” emanated from the stall next door.

“Daddy, guy poop," she said, her left arm extended to its full length, pointing at the next stall over.

A little more background: In an effort to make potty training and exciting as possible, I explained to Sadie that when you poop it makes a “plop” sound.  At the time, I believe she was trying to tell me she pooped when she clearly hadn’t.  I explained that when you poop, it makes a “plop” sound.  I knew she hadn’t pooped because I hadn’t heard that sound.

“Daddy, guy poop.”

Well, that will teach me.

We finished up.  She peed!  Yeah!  The guy in the next stall was taking his good old time, thankfully.  Since I was the only guy with kids at the facility Guy had to know it was me, but if we didn’t have to meet in the toilet, that would be great.

We both exited the stall.  We were almost home free now.  A quick spritz of water and we could get out of there without any awkwardness.

“Come on Sadie, we have to wash our hands,” I said hurriedly.

And that is when she took a quick step to her left and began to dip her hands into the urinal…


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