How do you loo?

Further to Kato's post about bizarro I-don't-want-anyone-to-see-me-coming-out-of-the-stalls toileting behaviour, I thought I'd add my own recent tale of horror.
First things first. I too do not like to be seen coming out of the stalls in the work bogs. The toilets are a bizarre place and I don't want to engage anyone in conversation in there - although I have a good friend who I love dearly who delves headlong into a deep and meaningful with you the second you swing open the door. I don't want to look anyone in the eye in there. I don't want to see them in their ablutions and I certainly don't want to be able to attribute smells and sounds to individual colleagues.
I am a private pisser.
There are a lot of us, especially in the gay community, who gag at the idea of the trough and prefer the privacy of the stalls. This is a trap for young players as people wander in and out, proudly rattling out a thunderous fart at the piswah - perhaps because they don't care, perhaps because it snuck out, perhaps because they didn't notice one of the stall doors was closed... who can say? I don't need to know who is responsible for this kind of act.
I wait until everyone is gone before I leave the stall. I also don't like being seen leaving the toilet. I don't mind being seen going in... I can conduct a conversation at the door... but I don't want to be seen leaving. I don't know why. If someone has come in to the toilet while I've been in there, I'll go to great lengths to make sure they don't think it was me who was in the stall... as if they're going back through the news floor working out who isn't at their desk and might be calculating who it might have been behind the locked door.
Which all leads me to the horrifying experience I had at Perth Airport the other week as I prepared to jet off on holidays.
My flight had been delayed several times and I'd amused myself in the waiting lounge variously by reading and people watching - including checking out a reasonably cute boy. Unfortunately, he caught me looking a couple of times and I got a bit shocked and stopped looking.
I had a coffee and a bottle of water and then, as you might expect, my bladder demanded some relief. So I trotted off to the loo. To my horror the stalls were full. There are extra bathrooms at the airport so I swung back out the door, nearly collecting the cute boy coming in as I went out, and marched around the corner to the other loos.
To my continued horror, the stalls were full here too. So I thought "fuck it, let's brave it". I stood at one of the porcelain bowls on the wall and did my thing. No sooner had I built up a steady stream than someone stood at the one beside me.
I was mortified enough as it was but when I realised it was the cute boy... who had pulled his boy bits out and was intently studying mine... all my vital organs stopped functioning at once and I was consumed by a fight-or-flight-cardiac-arrest-with-triple-pike-and-nuclear-fission-blast-of-terror.
I was peeing. I couldn't run. I couldn't do anything. I was peeing and he was judging my performance. Or my equipment. I'm not sure. I didn't care. I felt like I was being raped.
He didn't pee... just put it away and walked away.
28 years of dedicated stall attendance and the one time I venture out into the big man's world and that happens! I'm still mortified just thinking about it.
I didn't go to the loo the whole flight. Apart from the fact I hate being seen lining up for the toilet and then seeing the face of the person about to inherit the post-pee space after you as you leave, I didn't want to risk his attention again.