I hate urinals. You pull out your special friend and urinate on what is essentially a specialized wall that is made to accept your waste and like it. Now I'll admit that I don't really like the prospect of standing in between a couple of fellows while performing a vital bodily function and having to worry about just how much of Little Cantay can be seen, but it's not quite that that I hate. At least not on a conscious level.
Even when I'm alone I have to struggle mightily to squeeze out a drop. Maybe it's the fact that urinals don't have little barriers on all sides to protect you from view, or maybe it's that you have to keep your pants pretty much up while you do it because of that fact. Honestly, I don't know entirely what it is.
I bring this up because today I had an episode where I had to go so bad that my kidneys began to ache (really bad, I know--I like to hold it sometimes). Once I'd finally relieved myself (using a normal toilet, thank you), my mind managed to drift back to an experience I had in San Antonio.
It was Saturday after all the tests had been taken and we were at the Super Quiz Relay, which is essentially a continuation of the test in the final event, but it's done in public view and your teammates are cheering you in between questions. We did very poorly in that (like the 3rd or 4th worst team out of 40--yet we still got 6th place; we're just really good at everything else, I guess...) but I was able to restrain myself until it was over and we took a break to let the judges tabulate the results. It was then that I went to the bathroom with about one thousand other people.
Once I managed to get there, I was very distressed to find that the bathroom was tiny: there were a total of two stalls and four urinal ports. As though this weren't bad enough, this place had the type of urinal that is reminiscent of a container you'd hang on your windowsill and grow flowers in. There were two of those in the bathroom, and it was clear that they were both meant to be shared. I immediately tried the stalls when I got in, but I had no luck. Oh well--I'd hate to deprive someone of a stall if they needed it to defecate, anyways. I sidled up to the one open spot at the urinal line, standing in between two men, apparently coaches, conversing about what they were doing in their schools besides Decathlon. While they were talking, I was trying desperately to get going; I was afraid that this would happen, but I convinced myself that my extreme physical need to evacuate my bladder would be enough to get myself going, and once I started, things would get better. Unfortunately, I couldn't get anything to happen. You females may think that we guys are worried about our penis sizes when we use public urinals, but what is truly important is the amount of urine you can clear out and how fast. According to the Urinal Maleness Test, I hadn't even been conceived yet. Suddenly a miracle happened! By holding my breath and contorting myself into a very strange position, I was able to get a little trickle going. I increased the flow by the sheer force of my will, but it was still only a pitifully thin and clear rivulet, and I was very quickly running out of breath (I still had to hold it). Once eternity had passed and I was about halfway through, it was necessary for me to take a breath or risk collapsing into the metal flowerbucket. Whoever has gotten to this point deserves congratulations and a cookie--this is not one of my cleaner entries. As I had feared, it was with inhalation that everything ended. I was relieved though; I'd managed to save my kidneys from imploding upon themselves once again, and I would be good for a decent while before I would feel like using the bathroom again. Still, it was a very torturous experience, and I'm extremely grateful that I didn't know any of those people--you lose a little bit of your manhood in a male's eyes if you can't get it going at a urinal.
Anyways, that's why urinals suck. A lot. Hasta la byebye, folk.
Even when I'm alone I have to struggle mightily to squeeze out a drop. Maybe it's the fact that urinals don't have little barriers on all sides to protect you from view, or maybe it's that you have to keep your pants pretty much up while you do it because of that fact. Honestly, I don't know entirely what it is.
I bring this up because today I had an episode where I had to go so bad that my kidneys began to ache (really bad, I know--I like to hold it sometimes). Once I'd finally relieved myself (using a normal toilet, thank you), my mind managed to drift back to an experience I had in San Antonio.
It was Saturday after all the tests had been taken and we were at the Super Quiz Relay, which is essentially a continuation of the test in the final event, but it's done in public view and your teammates are cheering you in between questions. We did very poorly in that (like the 3rd or 4th worst team out of 40--yet we still got 6th place; we're just really good at everything else, I guess...) but I was able to restrain myself until it was over and we took a break to let the judges tabulate the results. It was then that I went to the bathroom with about one thousand other people.
Once I managed to get there, I was very distressed to find that the bathroom was tiny: there were a total of two stalls and four urinal ports. As though this weren't bad enough, this place had the type of urinal that is reminiscent of a container you'd hang on your windowsill and grow flowers in. There were two of those in the bathroom, and it was clear that they were both meant to be shared. I immediately tried the stalls when I got in, but I had no luck. Oh well--I'd hate to deprive someone of a stall if they needed it to defecate, anyways. I sidled up to the one open spot at the urinal line, standing in between two men, apparently coaches, conversing about what they were doing in their schools besides Decathlon. While they were talking, I was trying desperately to get going; I was afraid that this would happen, but I convinced myself that my extreme physical need to evacuate my bladder would be enough to get myself going, and once I started, things would get better. Unfortunately, I couldn't get anything to happen. You females may think that we guys are worried about our penis sizes when we use public urinals, but what is truly important is the amount of urine you can clear out and how fast. According to the Urinal Maleness Test, I hadn't even been conceived yet. Suddenly a miracle happened! By holding my breath and contorting myself into a very strange position, I was able to get a little trickle going. I increased the flow by the sheer force of my will, but it was still only a pitifully thin and clear rivulet, and I was very quickly running out of breath (I still had to hold it). Once eternity had passed and I was about halfway through, it was necessary for me to take a breath or risk collapsing into the metal flowerbucket. Whoever has gotten to this point deserves congratulations and a cookie--this is not one of my cleaner entries. As I had feared, it was with inhalation that everything ended. I was relieved though; I'd managed to save my kidneys from imploding upon themselves once again, and I would be good for a decent while before I would feel like using the bathroom again. Still, it was a very torturous experience, and I'm extremely grateful that I didn't know any of those people--you lose a little bit of your manhood in a male's eyes if you can't get it going at a urinal.
Anyways, that's why urinals suck. A lot. Hasta la byebye, folk.
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