Sorry, Fella

A public restroom is a hell of an awkward place.

For women, it's not too bad. You urinate, you sing, you dance, you smile, you hangout on the couch, you primp in the mirror, you engage in some casual ass cheek cusps, and you bolt. Men don't have an equally as comfortable situation. We have sanitation hockey pucks to try and melt, uncontrollable flatulence, wrinkled newspapers, grunts, and the dreaded occasional salami sighting. And that's not even counting the awkward interactions with the fellows next to you holding their Rolo packs.

I've commented on the essence of public bathroom etiquette before but tonight I endured an entertaining situation that begs exploitation. It was classic.

So, I enter the men's bathroom to take a squirt and nearly miss the urinals because they are so close to the door. I notice there's a huskier gentleman already occupying one of them so I do the courteous thing and set up shop two urinals away. For one thing, I couldn't wait to get my penis out of my pants so the relief brought joy to my heart. But the poor bloke on the other side of the open urinal seemed to have finally gotten started. He seemed flustered as he started to release. It was a dribbler. I felt incredibly bad. Had I just walked in and ruined this dude's long awaited urine operation?

If that wasn't bad enough, I started spraying like R. Kelly. I pee loudly -- it's a well-known fact. There I was, juicing out a nice one while this perfectly innocent wiener returned to its home after shedding just a few pathetic tears. He must have really been bummed after he finished washing his hands and realized I was still letting loose. It's not my fault that I take world famous never-ending urinations that Zeus could only dream of.

Karma made sure that I got mine though. I walked to the sink and looked directly at the closed bathroom door. I don't know why, I just did. After finishing up the OCD washing ritual, I made for the door with some gusto -- arm up and ready to fly out of that latrine a pound or two lighter and glowing like Rainbow Brite at Chippendale's. To my surprise, the door was not there. Some little tan skinned man was where I had looked just moments before. I either almost face-pushed the fella or kissed him. It was awkward and I started laughing. His expression was dull and ugly. He must have had to drop a deuce. Or maybe he just naturally looks like he has to crap.

And there it is. One of many awkward experiences that men have to deal with. Granted, we don't have tampons and pregnancy tests, but we got stage fright and random acts of almost love or violence. That's why the public restroom is, and always will be, a magical place filled with awe and wonder.