Real Men Wee With Focus

In the washrooms and at the kiddie urinal, Dad was teaching Kiddie Son - telling him to put away his games consol and focus on his wee wee and getting wee into the urinal and not on the floor.

When men go the washrooms, we are focused while women are scattered. It’s a groupie outing to them, something that requires a ten minute+ discussion, raising the necessary quorum, who has toilet tissue, a debate to see if they can all fit into the cubicle and who gets the first wee.

When we men go, we focus and map out an appropriate route – “I’ll get up, do a left by Fat Man or maybe not because his fat belly is in the way. It might be better to detour by Big Butt Woman, then a right at the pillar and in the process drool at glasses wearing Ziper Model with the longs legs and skyscraper heels - then double back, do a left by the speakers, walk behind Bouncer so he can clear a path, skirt the edge of the bar and that should give me a clear run”.

However, when we get to the urinals, there is a spot of dithering – especially if there are no dividers between them.

Bashful Man wants to wee at the ends of the urinal where there is some privacy in that, he can stand at an angle with his back to the person on his left, while on his right, there is a wall to take care of that end.

Meanwhile, Real Man is not bothered and heads for the centre urinal – not in an attempt to show off the size factor – or is it?, but because he’s not really bothered where he stands.

At the urinal, there is an unwritten rule of: “Thou shall not cast your eyes left or right to look down at Neighbours wee wee, and comment on it, admire it or hate it.”

Instead we focus. We focus on the imaginary spot on the wall in front of us. If not, we look down and focus on wee wee – making sure the wee is projecting according to the flight plan. The senses in our peripheral vision also go up a notch or two, that without turning our head, we have a general idea of what’s happening either side of us – just in case we have to take evasive action should the projectile of Neighbours wee go askew.

The urinals often have two antiseptic balls in them and to pass time, we sometimes aim our wee at them to see if we can make them roll about.

However, what we don’t like is that man who wants to have a urinal conversation – because a conversation as we wee puts us off our groove. Holding wee wee, making sure wee is going into the urinal, puffing on a sporti while juggling a beer bottle, is too much for us to concentrate on. And now throw in a conversation as well?

There is of course Rude Boy – all showing off with arms crossed, legs akimbo and marvelling at his wee wee being able to wee on its own without being held. I support myself by bracing one hand on the wall in front of me while others lean on the urinal dividers. The rest simply hold onto wee wee for dear life.  

Putting wee wee away is an art that requires finesse as the lingering wee has to be disposed of without it going on our trousers or on the person next to us. It also has to be done in a manner that Morality Police will not deem as conducting a naughty act on oneself.

When we exit, we pause and double check that zipper is up, then plot the best possible route back – behind the speakers, a left by DJ box, a slight pause to let Drunko stagger pass... We often bump into Female Groupie who has been pinned between Fat Man’s beer belly and the wall. If only she had listened to me and taken a right turn by the speakers...