There are two types of people in the world: those who play games on the toilet, and those who pretend they don't. I am a proud member of the former category. We used to read books in there, but phones changed all that. Soon grown men were whipping out their Nokia and playing Snake. Floppy newspapers made way for Flappy Birds.
My own toilet gaming predated phones, beginning with Nintendo Game & Watch. A couple of school chums owned them, and I've yet to see a greater example of true friendship than someone allowing you to take their Oil Panic handheld into the privy. Before that I used to make up a game where I would see how fast I could start and then stop the stopwatch on my Casio digital watch. My record was 0.07 seconds.
Dedicated handheld gaming machines never worked in there for me. The Game Boy was too large and fancy, and there was no point entering with a Game Gear or Atari Lynx because the batteries wouldn't cover a single visit. The Game Boy Advance SP was a quantum leap in toilet gaming because it was small and discreet with 10 hours of battery life. But that's where I learned the pitfalls: it needed to be an undemanding game you could play in bite-sized chunks. Advance Wars nearly killed me; the later missions had me sitting there so long that when I tried to get off the seat my legs would be asleep and I'd topple over.
In the modern world, the toilet is conducive to gaming because there are no distractions. No one is bothering you in there, and it is guilt free. Parenting begets gamer's guilt; you always feel you should be doing something more worthwhile. The toilet becomes a mini oasis of isolated tranquility and undisturbed gaming where you answer the call of nature rather than the yell of parenthood.
My toilet gaming has increased the older my children get. I refuse to fix our noisy bathroom fan because it's the only thing that drowns their voices out. In recent times, Alto's Adventure, Pocket Run Pool, Prune, NFL RB25, Pocket Card Jockey and Marvel Snap have proved perfect bathroom companions. The absolute zenith of my toilet gaming is Lego Hill Climb Adventures, which I use when I pop into the powder room to cope with workplace stress.
Gaming is so immersive it helps you forget the outside and what you are in there to do. That's why we started reading in the first place: as a bowel-loosening distraction from the business at hand. I started gaming as a child, with our ZX Spectrum set up in a cupboard. I could shut the door and escape from parents who constantly and loudly fought into an alternate world where problems could be solved. I am glad they can still do the same nearly half a century later in the smallest, safest room of all.
