Peer Pressure
Silence reigned when a coworker entered the bathroom and stepped up to the urinal. As unspoken custom demanded, he chose the one farthest from the one I was at, and we did not acknowledge the other’s presence in the slightest.
Moments later we both turned to the row of sinks and greeted one another, as if we had just spontaneously appeared in the room, also according to custom.
He began to walk to the door.
I bent to turn on a faucet.
He turned, nonchalantly, as if of course he was going to rinse his hands, how could I think otherwise, he just liked to stroll around the bathroom first, as people do.
I rinsed my hands.
He rinsed his hands.
He reached to turn off the water at the same time I reached up and got some soap.
He nearly hit his hand adjusting his movement to match, and he made sure to pump the dispenser the exact same number of times I did.
I washed my hands. Carefully.
He washed his with just as much thoroughness.
I rinsed.
He rinsed, matching me in every way.
I made eye contact, smiled, and pulled out my wire brush…
