I don’t spend much time in public restrooms reading the
scrawling of obnoxious people who are apparently so full of rage that they feel
compelled to furiously scribble insults while going potty. I get out of those
stalls as fast as I can, occasionally stopping just long enough to take
pictures of the best ones. Like this one
I saw on a dirty restroom wall in a café in Portland:
Lately, when I scroll through the comment threads on the
internet, I feel like I’m in a smelly restroom stall, staring at the walls, wondering why everyone is so angry. Gone are civil conversations between fellow
humans sharing ideas and expanding one another’s worldview.
Those have been replaced with vitriolic disputes and attacks of people’s
fundamental beliefs that set off emotionally charged arguments. I’m right, you’re
wrong, and everyone’s an idiot.
I once got caught up in a let-me-put-you-in-your-place
comment frenzy and I’m totally embarrassed about it. And what do we do when we’re
embarrassed about something we’ve done in the past? Share it with the world,
obviously.
Last year, there was an article in The Olympian about the
Tanglewilde Pool and how it was not going to open due to a levy failure. One of these angry types—who probably spends
his free time carving swastikas into restroom stalls—was raging against the
neighborhood and against its founder (who happens to be my grandpa). I thought
I could logically and rationally present the facts to him, systematically
address his mistakes, and explain how levies work. Surely, he would see the
error of his ways and we would skip off into the sunset holding hands, friends
for life, laughing over our silly disagreement.
Here’s a helpful hint: When someone is hiding behind a fake
screen name and appears to be a raving lunatic, chances are, they aren’t going
to listen to reason. (This is where I awkwardly confess that my own screen name
certainly was not Rachel Niemeyer, so... who’s the raving lunatic?)
I engaged this guy, and when he refused to discuss the
matter in a civilized way, when he snubbed the evidence I presented and chose to
continue his insults, I simply responded by pointing out his grammatical errors.
Of which there were many.
Wrong thing to do, Rachel. Wrong. Thing. To do.
Shockingly, he didn't receive my critique in a kindly manner.
Nor were we able to come to a mutual understanding of the neighborhood pool
dilemma. And I felt bad for days. Especially for this guy’s poor grammar skills.
He probably works for The Olympian. That was mean.
What I did was just as ridiculous as if I were to go into a
public restroom and, with a big fat Sharpie, write something offensive on the wall, and then come back periodically to check for replies.
Comment threads are an embarrassing revelation about the
nature of humanity. And like the stalls in public restrooms, they stink, they’re
a stupid place to display opinions (that's what blogs are for), and it seems to be where illiterate people spend most
of their time.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of a fantastic
argument about why biting should be allowed in soccer.
