Urinals a necessity in life in multiple ways

I was minding my own business. I really was; I just couldn’t help it. I spied, I overheard, I… I was minding my own business. I really was; I just couldn’t help it. I spied, I overheard, I eavesdropped, call it what you will. There they were, two girls, concocting an elaborate and ambitious plan to desecrate the sacred male monuments, to humiliate the highest temple of masculinity: urinals. The girls had decided to convert the washroom wonders into ordinary fishbowls, each complete with an ordinary, undeserving goldfish.

In the hierarchy of things, the male bathroom reigns supreme, for it is a land in which no woman may enter, yet it can be found everywhere, all over the world – except, of course, when we really need to use it. Within that tiled territory, the toilet and urinal compete for supremacy, but the urinal always wins the battle. Over the centuries, the urinal has proved itself a worthy companion to the male and is one of the few joys of our lives.

If a man’s bathroom is his castle, then the urinals are the in-house McDonald’s – get in, get out, get on your way. A deft yank on the belt and the hard part is done. We just stand back, relax and let the good times roll. Automatic flushing is a rare treat that will put a spring in any man’s step.

Speaking of flushes, who in their right mind would enjoy pressing that cursed lever on the toilets? Who in their right mind would willingly unleash the thunderous vortex of doom? We don’t dare. In the old days – I mean way back, before Britney was innocent and Pokemon was cool – men hunted mammoths, saber tooth tigers, and, for all I know, the Abominable Snowman. And guess who usually won those fights? Hint: It wasn’t the men. So you see, we’re petrified of roars and snarls and we therefore avoid toilets and their screaming torrents as much as possible.

For the most part, we men don’t like to use critical thinking skills, so we try desperately to avoid knocking on doors, fumbling with complicated lock mechanisms, dropping our pants – we save that for when it really counts – or locating stalls that pass our sanitary inspections. We save our brainpower for more manly things, like lighting things on fire, watching “the game” or eating until we puke. To be honest, we are just simple creatures who appreciate the openness and facility of the urinal. This is why women, who are inherently more complicated, resent our ability to stand and therefore pick fights with us all day long.

Urinals are our mother ships, our checkpoints, at which members from all social and economic strata come to recoup and energize. We brainstorm, dream, and otherwise mull over profound ideas. Whether he is escaping from work or recovering from a hangover, perhaps hiding from a spouse or simply finding new direction, man goes to the urinal. Urinals are the nexus of interaction from which our progressive society has sprung forth. Centuries of wisdom are etched on the bathroom tiles. It is through this very method of communication that we know that the American Revolution began in a restroom, when a British officer violated the Second Law of Urinals.

Harmony emanates from their chambers; world peace lies within their depths. After all, no man ever killed his urinal mate. In this scenario, “urinal mate” is a loose term, since mate implies proximity, and proximity to another urinal-bound male violates the First Law. In ways we could never describe, urinals transcend racial, national and linguistic barriers. We are at ease with them. Urinals don’t judge us, tell us we’re slobs, scream at our follies or laugh at our mistakes. Their gentle gurgling and heavenly white hue calm our souls. We belong together.

But mostly they intrigue us; we are awed and inspired by all that is the urinal. Why is it shaped like it is? What is that little cake thing at the bottom made of? Why are some urinals lower than others? Was it chance or was it destiny that enabled us to stand at the helms of these wondrous devices? As long as such questions exist, man cannot rest, and the urinal with all its glory will live on.

Have you ever experienced a urinal epiphany? E-mail your inspirations to Ravi at rrp10@pitt.edu.