For god sake, let me pee in peace.

Now I've been known to share a bathroom stall with certain girlfriends due to circumstances beyond my control: over crowding, over consumption or, say, fear of being raped in a certain Tenderloin bar's bathroom. And during said situations, casual chatter is wholly acceptable. Where else are you going to confer about the merits of a potential toothless mate?

But I'm going to draw a line in the sand. If we're in an environment that has fluorescent overhead lights, elevators and/or requires a key card for entry, I do not want to talk in the bathroom. Granted we might be in separate stalls, but when I'm attempting to wiggle down my jeans without breaking a sweat, the last thing I want to do is discuss the unseasonably warm winter with a co-worker.

Needless to say, it blows my mind that men saddle up to the trough for a good gabfest. Do men look around their respected offices and think, "boy, I might only be the intern, but I've seen every man's penis on the floor!" Something tells me no. But I would.