About Face

We are having a bathroom crisis in this country. It seems that more and more people are choosing to forgo this household feature, knowing that the subway will be a perfectly satisfactory place to carry out their morning regimen (not “regime”, as some of you over-achievers like to say…that would be a different kind of subway ride altogether). Either that, or people are confused by the name “bathroom”. Surely you can take baths in it, but you can also do so much more. You can comb your hair, brush your teeth, and put on your makeup. You can even put some salve on that flesh-eating virus that is causing your face to fall off in the seat next to me.

We’ve all seen these people. You’ll be in class and some girl will whip out a pleather bag filled with all manner of brush and powder and goop. She’ll jab at her face with each one for about 15 seconds and then move onto the next. After ten minutes she’ll look like the ‘tute you passed on your way to the hot dog stand because she looked too desperate. In the meantime, she’s stunk up the place with a stench reminiscent of Crabtree & Evelyn but mixed with like ammonia. And all this beauty is an ugly business. In the process of tarting herself up, this chick has felt the need to pick all the glop and schmutz off of each item in her accoutrement and flick it “down at her side” which functionally is “on your leg.” It’s the same thing as sausage-making, folks; no one wants to see the process and they have to be hung-over to appreciate the results anyway.

Sad to say the fellas are not immune from this disease either. Gentlemen, there are no holes in your head in which it is acceptable to stick your finger when you’re in public. If your ear or your nose or your trachea is bothering you, this is either a non-emergency, in which case there’s plenty of time to excuse yourself to the bathroom, or it is an emergency, in which case you should be using that finger to call 911. In either case, you should not be anywhere near me when your head is being serviced. I do not think I’m being particularly sensitive about hygiene here. If a guy sneezing in an elevator can cause SARS, surely the skin dander that you’re setting loose as you pick at your face could set off a fresh batch of leprosy. And now that I am on record, no one can say I didn’t warn them. When I’m hunkered down with a radiation containment suit and tissue boxes on my feet but am Ebola-free, who’ll be laughing then?

But there’s a part of me that has to laugh at the irony of this public grooming epidemic. Isn’t the point of getting ready before you leave the house to appear as you want to be seen by others? When you’re smearing lipstick across your cheek as the train makes a sharp right, the cat’s out of the bag. We know what you look like with makeup and without it, and frankly, we’re indifferent. But assuming you think there’s a difference, let’s put your best face forward and emerge from your hovel ready to receive the onslaught of judgment and disdain that we are waiting to hurl at you with a stiff and perfectly outlined upper lip.