Happily Pissed Off
There is one thing you will need to be aware of in order to understand this story: All men, when faced with a foreign object in a toilet or urinal, will pee on it. It becomes an analogue of the "water gun into the clown's mouth" game at the carnival, except with a vague sense of there being more honour at stake.
Where I work, there is one men's washroom on my floor, and that washroom has one stall, and one urinal. For the past two weeks, there has been a small piece of paper in that urinal, a tiny rectangle of white paper about a centimetre long. And that piece of paper is just too big to fit into the holes of the rubber filter-thing that sits in the bottom of the urinal.
And every day for two weeks, whenever I had to go the the washroom, I would pee on this piece of paper in an effort to steer it to one of the holes, and then force it through.
(Stay with me, now. I'm going somewhere with this.)
Of course, since it's both tiny and lightweight, steering it around is extremely tricky, so getting it near a hole is hard enough. Once it gets to a hole, the slightest variation in aim can send it shooting away, to the other side of the rubber filter-thing, or, worse yet, off of the rubber filter-thing completely. If this happens, the only way to get it back is to flush the urinal, and then wait for the next time you have to go to try again.
Well, today, my friends, I finally did it. I directed it to one of the holes, blasted it into a compacted version of itself -- thank goodness I really had to go! -- and pushed it through the hole, into flushed oblivion!
The sense of satisfaction I felt was so great, I'm writing about it here. In a few moments, I shall be horrified that this was ever made public, but right now, at the hour of my success, I am triumphant! If you ever need anything peed out of your life forever, I trust you will know who to call.
(So, it turns out, I wasn't going anywhere with this. Go figure. But I did just get you to spend five minutes reading about me peeing, so, there's that.)
Where I work, there is one men's washroom on my floor, and that washroom has one stall, and one urinal. For the past two weeks, there has been a small piece of paper in that urinal, a tiny rectangle of white paper about a centimetre long. And that piece of paper is just too big to fit into the holes of the rubber filter-thing that sits in the bottom of the urinal.
And every day for two weeks, whenever I had to go the the washroom, I would pee on this piece of paper in an effort to steer it to one of the holes, and then force it through.
(Stay with me, now. I'm going somewhere with this.)
Of course, since it's both tiny and lightweight, steering it around is extremely tricky, so getting it near a hole is hard enough. Once it gets to a hole, the slightest variation in aim can send it shooting away, to the other side of the rubber filter-thing, or, worse yet, off of the rubber filter-thing completely. If this happens, the only way to get it back is to flush the urinal, and then wait for the next time you have to go to try again.
Well, today, my friends, I finally did it. I directed it to one of the holes, blasted it into a compacted version of itself -- thank goodness I really had to go! -- and pushed it through the hole, into flushed oblivion!
The sense of satisfaction I felt was so great, I'm writing about it here. In a few moments, I shall be horrified that this was ever made public, but right now, at the hour of my success, I am triumphant! If you ever need anything peed out of your life forever, I trust you will know who to call.
(So, it turns out, I wasn't going anywhere with this. Go figure. But I did just get you to spend five minutes reading about me peeing, so, there's that.)