A Study of Tile Grout

The floor has a wet sheen to it, almost to where you can see your own reflection if it hadn't already been drying. . The only noise is an air vent in the ceiling constantly sucking out air. It doesn't do its job well, because the air still smells of stale ammonia, bolstered by past uses of bleach and various other cleaning supplies that can't be placed by scent alone. The walls are a shiny white, separated by a dull white substance known as grout. The tiles on the floor are a dark grey. If they were shiny at any point in their existence, they aren't now. Their dullness is only matched by the off-white grout in between each tile. I can only guess their dullness is from years of walking and years of guys missing the wide open urinals and pissing all over the floor. Most of them probably don't shoot guns or plan on being archers at any point in their lives. Which would be a good thing.

The door opens and a man walks in. He stares me down with sitting on the white porcelain sink with a notebook in my lap and a pencil in hand. He has short brown hair, indistinguishable facial features, a red jacket, and black pants. I wince as he lays his backpack on to the grimy floor. This courageous man treads through the wet area around the urinals and stares only at the wall. Not a sound is made. No man talks in this setting. No man looks anywhere but at the white grout in between the shiny white of the tiles on the wall.

Suddenly, two more men walk into the restroom. I think, "Oh no. There are only three urinals. What shall happen between these three guys" I study the situation as if I'm the late Steve Irwin watching the mating habits of his crocodiles. Of the two guys who walk in, the one with glasses, a t-shirt, and a nose that could only be considerd a shnoz. This man is brave enough to traverse the wet area just as the first guy. But goes to the left most urinal, as far away from the first guy, in the red jacket, as possible. He stares at the wall, and not a word is said.

The other guy, in his jeans, black shoes, black beanie hat, black pants, and a black hooded sweatshirt has two options that I can see here. He can break the code of men and traverse the wet spot to the middle urinal, or he can go to one of the stalls. I can see the look of terror on his face at the wet spot his friend just passed over. The terror subsides as he comes to a conclusion of where to relieve himself. He walks past me to the farthest stall. The king size stall. The stall of all stalls. The handicapped stall. He didn't break the code, and in fact stood his ground and did his duty to all men. So he can stare at the grout in privacy from two other guys, in a stall fit for only the mentally retarded or physically challenged.

prompt: choose a significant person, place, or thing and describe it.