Real men use soap and water.

I know I haven't posted in a couple months, which in blog time is about 30 million years, and probably no one will read this, but while I'm stranded on Cube Island, a.k.a. at work, I thought I would further pollute the future history of mankind with my ramblings.

The washroom at my work, a.k.a. the john, head, water closet, bathroom, restroom, little/big boy's/girl's/men's/women's room, privy, latrine, lavatory, garderobe, the land of #1 and #2, squat and dump, crapperville, the two holer, or whatever you call it, is pretty typical. Three urinals, three stalls, three sinks, two soap dispensers, two towel dispensers, two trash cans, one mirror. White tile with a red, blue, or yellow one thrown in for effect, or because the tile setter had some extras and wanted to get rid of them.

Anyway, like I said, there are three urinals. Everyday when I have to relieve myself I visit the one and only men's room in the building. And everyday I cringe. Two of the urinals are set so high that you either have to be Sasquatch, pee through your chest, or leave a pressed ham on the ceramic. That leaves number three, and the stalls, but stalls don't leave you hanging out there for all the world to see and so aren't considered manly.

Urinal three, is lower to the ground. Some might think this is to accommodate any younglings that might happen by, but really it's the plumbers ode to gravity.

See, at least on this planet, things fall to the ground, so a urinal that is placed below chest height is still usable by, Sasquatch or any other abnormally tall people, and everyone else, but it's The Guild of Architects For the Confusion of Humanity, that make the plans. And in recent years a decree was passed to make all urinals chest high to increase the world's net stock in confusion.

But, a secret clause was added by the Plumbers Guild For Things That Make Sense, called the Wee Ones Need To Pee. And so there is always one lower urinal, masquerading as a child's waste disposal unit. (How you can tell it's not truly intended for children is because it's the same size as the "adult" ones.) (And not in kid friendly colors.) (And not shaped like Barney's head.) (Of course peeing in Barney's mouth would be fun, but that would add to confusion, and we don't want kids thinking they should pee in your friend's mouth when your friend is just trying to talk.) (And I know he loves you, and you love him, but should Barney still be your friend at your age?)

Okay, I've gotten a little sidetracked, so back to business a.k.a. doing the business.

Piss. Everyone's got it, and needs to get rid of it.

So, everyday I go to the W.C. and before I walk around the "privacy" wall, I hope that little ol' number three is ready for a fill up. And everyday I'm confronted by The Well of Yellow Brown Despair.

Someone in my building has not mastered the art of the flush. And I know it's the same person, because The Well is filled to the brim with the darkest piss you've ever seen. I mean, this guy must be simmering a side of beef in his bladder to get it that dark. Mechanics washing up at the end of the day would have to throw in an extra can of grease to get it that dark. It's so dark, it moonlights as the source for Darth Vader's evil power.

I have two choices, cozy up to the cold nasty ceramic of doom, or flush for the incompetent. I have a problem with flushing for him though. First of all the principle of the thing, and second, once you pull that lever whatever's in The Well is going to splash all over. And then I have to touch myself with whatever nasties were lurking there, so that I can finish my own business.

So, what I end up doing is a quick Flush 'N' Run, followed up with a hand washing and then I go and use good 'ol number three. But while I'm doing this I have time to think.

Did even the remedial school for flushing give up on him? Did a gangster cut off his flushing finger? Was he short on cash and the part of his brain that tells normal folk to clean up after themselves auctioned off at The Fair of Medical Mystery? Was he in a horrible eating contest accident and didn't stop until he realized he had eaten both his left and right arms?

Or he is one of those deluded souls who think, "I showered, that means I'm clean down thar! If I don't flush, no washing for me!". SOAP BOX ALERT(No you're not clean down there, even after you shower. And if you don't know why, use this thing called the Internet and go find out.) (An old article by the Straight Dope is particularly enlightening, if it still exists.) END ALERT

So, I decided that if I ever get to do one of those "The More You Know" bits, or any other public service announcement, I'm going to campaign for flushing. My catch phrase will be, "Just flush and wash". Unless you're one of those aliens that drink sour milk, soap and water won't kill you.

Be a man, pull the lever and wash your hands. And stop providing the source for Darth Vader's evil.

P.S. (If the maker of The Well of Yellow Brown Despair reads this, go drink some water. With piss that dark you're going to be putting in for a kidney transplant in 1 to 2 years.)