Urinals

I'm just going to be up front about the topic of this blog post. It's about urinals, and urine. Ergo; if you're reading it and you don't fancy spending the next one to two minutes of your life thinking about urine then it's okay to discontinue now...still here.

The territory that I'm covering is not really groundbreaking. It's sort of been covered in every sitcom dated after about 1990. (Insert joke about keeping the toilet seat down/implication that perhaps the rim of the toilet has received some incidental damage). Side note: The most interesting story I ever heard about innocent bystanders (read toilet bowl) came from an old co-worker of S's who had instructed his son to actually bend down and take a knee before dispensing yellow justice at anyone else's house. Apparently this method is highly successful in reducing the innocent bystander sort of damage.

I've not established, rather clearly, that we're in the realm of urine. (Insert joke that says "you're in trouble.") Anyhow, I have. Typically when I arrive in a situation like this, where my intended blog topic seems a little too fraught with revealing details I immediately delete the preceding paragraphs and track down some quotes by writers that I love. In this case I'm just going to change mid-stream. (I promise that will be the last joke of that ilk).

Anyhow, I've developed an intimate relationship with the good old urinal in the lower level bathroom in the public restroom. Note: I don't use the staff restrooms for a couple of reasons.
1. For a long period of time there was only one public restroom, which means the odds of having someone else using the relevant bathroom facilities were almost exponentially increased.

2. When I am using any sort of private bathroom when other people are around no matter how clear the locking system is I become convinced that I've somehow failed to lock the door and that a co-worker is going to walk in and that somehow this will cause the universe to end.

Aside related to Garrison Keilor
The last two years we've attended "A Prairie Home Companion" shows at Wolf Trap in Maryland. Last year, upon my arrival I realized that I needed to utilize the facilities, and I walked up to the bathroom and opened the unlocked door to discover a family group of five all women, three of whom were pants less and one well over the age when that sort of general pantlessness is regarded as somewhat understandable. Why they had an entire family of pantless people was unknown to me, though vaguely brought back memories of family vacations or school gatherings where no child is allowed to be left alone. Thus, I hastily backed out of the restroom and told everyone I was with to be on the look out for groups of urinating women appearing behind unlocked doors.

This year at Wolf Trap when I went to use the multi-gender facility I stepped inside to the single use occupancy bathroom but was followed closely by a gentleman of about age sixty. Well, I didn't wait a moment I clearly had the right of way. However, rather than stepping outside as the urinal situation dictated he stood behind me whistling or something, which created a kind of anxiety in me that leads to an inability to actually perform the desired task. Well that's all well and good except that he inexplicably left the door unlocked after tailing me into the restroom and people are walking in and seeing me, back turned thank God, standing over the toilet in the posture of one peeing. This did nothing to help my performance anxiety. And, after the first person walked out, the old man, who by this point I was regarding with the sort of disdain that I usually only muster up for other drivers, does not proceed to lock the door. Thus, another man stumbles into the restroom, observes me not peeing, and then exits. You'd assume that after two random entries my comrade in urine might consider utilizing the rudimentary locking system on the door. However, he does not, and just when I'm finally able to overcome my very natural shyness when it comes to eliminating with other folks standing watch over you I hear the voice of a woman talking to a young girl who says, "Oh. And then, Oh!" This is followed by the door slamming and my face achieving a sort of lava like redness. All the while the older gentlemen stands by with a bemused look on his face as if he cannot believe this comedy of errors over which he apparently has no control. And, in my embarrassment over the whole scenario I'm not able to rattle off something like, "Hey thanks for the help there buddy or Did you grow up in a house without locks? Were things that different back then? or Did you enjoy the show?" No, I sort of half-smile at the old codger, who was probably the devil himself, on my way out of the bathroom and back into the park thinking to myself, at least I had my pants on.

3. Sort of related to the above anecdote. Whenever I attempt to use the bathroom and someone else is in there, if I happen to try the door only to learn that it is locked I feel a sense of mortification so deep that I generally leave the premises for about twenty minutes, so that I don't run into the person who has been using the bathroom. Note: This policy applies double when someone calls out with the agreed upon classic, "Someone is in here." Note 2: This sort of discomfort about the usage of bathrooms is entirely revoked in bars where people regard each other with a general sense of goodwill, which is probably mostly attributable to the alcohol and one of the few unquestionably good things that comes with drink.

3a) Relatedly, when I'm using a one person bathroom and someone else tries the door I rarely say, "Occupied, or someone is in here." Rather, I always assume that the lock has done the work of discouraging the person, and I don't want them to feel that mortification at having tried the door, though this occasionally backfires with people who assume that a locked door is a chance for them to use their shoulder/locksmithing skills to open it in total disregard of the bathroom etiquette out that I've provided them. And to those folks I say, screw em'.

This post has been sufficiently long, such that I no longer feel any need to extrapolate on the intended post involving my relationship with a favored urinal. Except to sort of wonder whether other people who routinely utilize public restrooms, if they develop a go to spot, something that sort of feels like home. And if you'd consider changing that spot if complications arose. But really, I've already said too much without saying anything at all. Adieu.