An Imaginary Conversation With My Girlfriend

The urinals at work are awful.
They comprise some of the
worst design choices I have
ever witnessed or been privy to.
The thing is 'V'-shaped, which
would be OK in most situations, but
is made at such a severe angle that
the backsplash returns
a full stream right on your pants.

Every time I use it I can
see the droplets spring forth from the porcelain
with such force it's everything
I can do to dodge them while
still maintaining a respectable distance
from the stall. My
feet must part an extra foot
at an equally acute angle as the urinal.

The floor wets itself every
time, as a nod to its own design flaws.
God forbid I strike the
dome-shaped drain with my pee-stream --
it guffaws as it throws yellow
drops straight at my face.

The pink sterile smelling cakes
are just more obstacles to traverse.
Ultimately, I have two choices - constant
vigilance to protect my shoes,
or the toilet stool.

I tell you this
because you listen.
I wish I had a story about
some incredible sale I made,
or how my
coworker is having lunch
with Tommy Lee Jones tomorrow. But
my day isn't fraught
with interesting goings-on.

Nay, it's the urinals or silence.

In conclusion, my pants stayed dry today.


An Imaginary Conversation With My Girlfriend by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.