Sunday, December 12, 2010
The other day, I really had to go. Some coffee wanted back out of me, so I went to the Men's Room to go ... well, you know.
C'mon, it's a natural function. We all do it. Jeesh.
I just didn't expect to get so much help this time.
As I went to push the door, it opened on its own, nearly dumping me on the floor. "Ah, well, okay," I thought.
Then I went to that wonderful receptacle of men's urine, the urinal. Fancy name, that. Urinal. Why not peeinal? Or whizinall? Or tinkleinall?
Anyway, I digress.
I finished, and when I went to flush I saw there was no handle. Ah, one of those self-flushing ones. Cool Beans.
I backed away, and sure enough, fresh water whooshed into the urinal-peeinal-whizinall-tinkleinall. Heh.
Okay, time to wash. Note: Unlike two thirds of men, I realize that the force of, um, peeing into the urinal-peeinal-whizinall-tinkleinall causes the spray stream to break up into little pee droplets that are light enough to get swept by urinal-peeinal-whizinall-tinkleinall jet currents, blowing them onto whatever might be in the vicinity.
Namely, one's hands.
The cure? Easy, wash them off with soap and water.
Unfortunately, not everyone knows about this, or worse, they know and don't care, and wish to carry the pee droplets into the outside world and distribute them when giving high fives or shaking hands or simply handling the knob to the bathroom door.
Many of these trolls wouldn't bother to flush either, so the makers of the bathroom fixed that nasty little habit, or lack of habit, by creating self flush.
Then they try to help the trolls even more, as I found out when I tried to get some soap. As soon as my hands came near the sink, soap automatically splurted out of hidden holes near the sink basin onto my hands.
More cool beans.
So I lathered a bit and when my hands went back towards the basin, water gushed out of other hidden holes washing the soap and pee droplets off my hands.
A super abundance of cool beans.
I turned around, and there, before my eyes, was the coup de grace. A jet propulsion hand dryer. As soon as my hands approached the nozzle, a warm blast of air with the equivalent force of an F16 shot out of the nozzle, blasting my hands dry in a split second.
Stunned, I looked at my hands. Clean, dry.
Now if they could only figure out a way to automatically zip up my zipper...
(If you like this kind of stuff, get yourself to my website and download The Guy'd Book for absolutely free. Or get it on Kindle.)