Stance

         "Toby Willis is a gaywad."  I couldn't help but chuckle as I read what someone who obviously had some beef against this Toby Willis guy had scrawled on the stall door with a black sharpie. 
         "Whoever wrote this is a chicken shit douche bag," was penned in blue ink right underneath the gaywad statement.  Obviously, Toby Willis had been here, too.
         I looked around at all the writing on the surrounding walls as I tried hard not to think about just how much of a barrier the layers of toilet paper between my bare ass and the much-used porcelain of the truck stop toilet actually were. With very little of the stall being free of ink, permanent marker, or carved in letters, it was apparent a lot of people were eager to share their opinions.
         "Get us out of the U.N."
         "Jesus Saves," under which someone else had inked, "Moses Invests."  It took me a couple of minutes to realize that was a rip on Jews.  The whole good-with-money/greedy thing. 
         "Abortion is murder."
         "Religion is the opiate of the masses."
         "You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands."
         "Free Tibet."
         Of course, there were the standard dick and fart jokes all around, too.  The standards like "Here I sit so broken hearted..." and "Don't chew the gum they sell in here, it tastes like rubber," as well as the handful of phone numbers accompanied by female and male names promising to be good times or the best head and descriptions of who did what to whose mother. 
         But these cruder entries were the minority.  Most of what people had left as a message to future squatters and hoverers was far more personal, even political.
         Not only were these people eager to share their opinions, it was so urgent to them that they couldn't wait for a better forum to come along than the inside of a public toilet.  Right there, in the middle of a shit, they had to tell the world that George Bush's mother should have swallowed or that marriage was to be kept sacred and not desecrated by homosexuals. 
         Not only were these messages urgent, but those that took an opposing viewpoint felt unable to keep their side of the argument silent, breaking out their own ball-point or felt-tipped or even a pocketknife.  There were battles fought.
         There on the walls were racial conflicts, one side demanding that all blacks be sent back to Africa, another calling for the revolution and the blood of The Man, while a third, more peaceful side was quoting Martin Luther King and calling for equality.
         There were legal battles with some suggesting that certain drugs be legalized because George Washington grew it, which was countered by Nancy Regan's Just say no catch phrase and an even cheesier one that pointed out that only dopes used dope.
         Arguments over every military issue from Vietnam to the War on Terror were played out on these walls, which once again sent my mind on the trip of wondering how often the bathroom had been cleaned since Johnson was in the White House.  Hate-filled words from pro- and anti-war stances were traded.  Baby Killers, Slopes, Commies, Hanoi Jane, Murderers, Draft Dodgers, Sand Niggers,  Towel Heads, Camel Jockeys, Modern Day Nazis. 
         I read through these ink fights with the same stupid grin I used to see on my college roommate's face when he'd watch the rednecks slug it out on Springer.  I found myself acting as referee in the fights, trying to decide who had won each bout. 
         I do have to say I made a fairly impartial judge and I remained pretty objective.  I judged on which made a firmer stance, the initial author or the rebutter.  I immediately disqualified any participant who took it to the level of personal attack, such as the penman who responded to the declaration, "I will never understand why our country keeps putting democrats in the White House!" with his statement, "That's no surprise you don't understand when you obviously aren't smart enough to vote for a democrat."  The classic playground that's-cause-you're-stupid reply that always signaled defeat. 
         Cleverness without cheesiness won points.  If someone was able to discredit the previous comment, they were declared the victor.  Making me laugh was a shortcut to winning.  Citing facts was important in some of the wins.  I didn't judge one time on which side of the argument I most agreed with. 
         When I realized how great I was at being impartial, I began to question myself.  Which side did  I agree with?  Was abortion murder or was a woman's body hers to decide what to do with?  Was I more likely to back a democrat or republican?  Which of the U.S. wars were just and moral causes and which were us being global bullies?  Should gays be allowed to marry or was that sacrilegious?  And speaking of religion, which ones were Heaven-bound and which were going to  burn?  Was meat murder?  Gun control?  Illegal immigration?  Interracial marriages?  Did I have a stance on any of these issues? 
         Did I have a stance on anything?  Surely, there was something, I mean, there had to be something I felt strongly about.
         I became obsessed with finding my hidden passionate issue.  I was determined to leave my own deep-rooted belief before leaving the stall.  I wouldn't budge until I was inspired to leave behind some words on the stall that would tell the would who I was and what was important to me, about me. 
         My ass grew numb before it happened, but it did happen.  With the same urgency all these former political spokesmen must have felt before penning their opinion in this most intimate of forums, I fumbled around in my pockets for the pen I knew I had in my jacket somewhere.  Finally, finding it wedged into the inner pocket, I pulled out the pen and scrawled what I had just realized the only thing I really knew. 
                "I have no strong opinion on anything."