Exhausted Sarcasm and Urinal Etiquette
So every time I fly I have a great story of my misadventures. This time my plans to knock the earth off its axis were squashed by an overabundance of work hours (Sorry, Cam we really could have done some damage this time). This last business sponsored jaunt from west to east coast left me exhausted to the point where I didn't even have enough energy to spread my dry sarcastic wit to the people who really deserved it. And believe me I had plenty of opportunities. I spent a lot of time using the go to phrase “Reeeally?” Don't get me wrong you can put a lot of sarcasm behind that word and make it work to the point of completely demoralizing someone. But we'll get back to that...
So obviously my company was trying to save a few bucks on my flight home. Philly to Chicago, an hour and twenty five minute layover. Chicago to Phoenix, an hour and fifteen minute layover. Phoenix to Portland. Four airports, twelve and a half hours from start to finish, so not even enough time to get a good nap in to dream about saving the plane from a bunch of snakes with Samuel L. Jackson. And since I encounter at least one douche bag in the random seating chart that is my air travel hell on every trip I take, the odds were not in my favor for some well deserved sleepy time (for further reference to the last statement, see my past blogs “PDX to Las Vegas, 7C” and “A glass of shut the f*ck up and karmic luggage in aisle 24” I can send the links upon request). Either I was too tired to put up a fight or my single serving friends weren't so bad this time. So when I arrived in P Town I thought I had averted all the simpletons, but I was wrong.
So in the last leg of my flight I had only made it to the bathroom once and it was to join the mile high club with the blond stewardess. Oh excuse me, flight attendant, and as you may have already figured out I had a very imaginative snooze. My first priority once my feet hit terra firma was to take a piss. I rushed to the restroom with one thing in mind. When I entered the bathroom there were 12 urinals, 6 each on 2 opposite walls. Now before I go any further I need to mention that there’s a certain unspoken etiquette that men have about urinals. The two most important of those are personal space and eye wandering. In either case, if not followed correctly men will question your sexuality. In simplified terms always put at least one unattended urinal between you and the guy already draining the main vein and eyes forward at all times or your considered a homo. As luck would have it there was one open urinal that kept me within the code, so I parted the red sea and began to flood noah’s ark. With eyes forward admiring the grout work of the wall tiles, I noticed out of my peripherals someone breaking the rules right to the left of me. “How you guys doin’?” Okay an unmentioned man law, not a good idea to hold a conversation while holding your fire hose. I heard a “Fine” two urinals to my left, and I nodded never losing eye contact with the wall. I could not have been prepared for what happened next… Mr. business suit guy double fists his Blackberry above the urinal and starts typing an email, obviously letting go of his aim. As I buttoned up, the only thing I could say was “Reeeally?”
