I’ll start with a confession: On the huge-ass floor that my desk is located on, I almost always end up using the restroom closest to my desk. More so, when I need to pee, I will, without fail, visit the central stall. Even if the central stall is occupied and the others aren’t, I will patiently wait for the gentlemen to finish his business, before I begin mine. For those who care to ask why? I honestly don’t know. I guess its one of those compulsive things I am habituated to.
Coming to my main point, I find it hard to comprehend why some men consider urinating to be an art. Gentlemen- it’s most definitely a science. A science that any grown man, given the years of practice, would have perfected it down to an art.
- Walk to your favorite stall
- Unzip
- Do it
- Shake
- Zip up
- Wash and leave
Step 4 might require a certain amount of skill, but it still doesn’t warrant the splattering on the urinal floor, that I once felt had a faint resemblance to Monet’s fabulous oil on canvas ‘Impression, Soleil Levant‘. Consequently, it requires me to up my game, straddle the aforementioned pee-on-granite, and aim from nearly foot away, which is a lot harder than the world gives it credit for.
On a closing note, here’s something I read on the walls of the men’s room, back in college. Not exactly relevant, but certainly poignant and thought provoking.
“You may try by any means, the last two drops are for your jeans.”
