Gentlemen start your watches
Yesterday, I found myself in a bit of a hurry as I was leaving work, needing to deliver some shelves to their friendly Craigslist purchaser.
Having been told my entire childhood to "be sure to pee before we leave," I stopped into the washroom near the elevators only to find that, in the first time of my entire history of working in that building, the washroom was full.
"Well, there are only two guys in here, so one of the two urinals should free up any minute now," I told myself, as I discreetly danced the peepee dance near the wall. Boy, was I wrong.
I had unintentionally gotten in the pee line behind two marathon runners of liquid excretion.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And all this waiting inspired me to think about this whole pee duration thing. "Surely I don't pee this long, too, or is it simply a case of time flying when I'm having fun, so to speak?"
So when my turn finally arrived, I timed myself (in my head — I'm not socially suicidal enough to actually whip out a stopwatch in the men's room). 14 seconds.
Being the slightly obsessive/compulsive person that I am, and to make sure my 14-second pee wasn't a statistical anomaly, I timed myself the next several times, too.
20 seconds. 16 seconds. 11 seconds. 14 seconds again.
Which leads me to wonder, who's the weird one here: the two and a half minute urinators, or me?
I know this is probably well into too much information territory already, but am I cursed with a particularly small bladder? Or blessed with particularly high . . . uh, bandwidth?
Either way, I sure wish grocery story courtesy could apply to washrooms, too: "Oh, no, that's okay. You've only got those 15 seconds of pee, and I've got all this, so you can go on ahead. No worries, man, don't mention it."
Alas, I just don't see that happening.
Having been told my entire childhood to "be sure to pee before we leave," I stopped into the washroom near the elevators only to find that, in the first time of my entire history of working in that building, the washroom was full.
"Well, there are only two guys in here, so one of the two urinals should free up any minute now," I told myself, as I discreetly danced the peepee dance near the wall. Boy, was I wrong.
I had unintentionally gotten in the pee line behind two marathon runners of liquid excretion.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And all this waiting inspired me to think about this whole pee duration thing. "Surely I don't pee this long, too, or is it simply a case of time flying when I'm having fun, so to speak?"
So when my turn finally arrived, I timed myself (in my head — I'm not socially suicidal enough to actually whip out a stopwatch in the men's room). 14 seconds.
Being the slightly obsessive/compulsive person that I am, and to make sure my 14-second pee wasn't a statistical anomaly, I timed myself the next several times, too.
20 seconds. 16 seconds. 11 seconds. 14 seconds again.
Which leads me to wonder, who's the weird one here: the two and a half minute urinators, or me?
I know this is probably well into too much information territory already, but am I cursed with a particularly small bladder? Or blessed with particularly high . . . uh, bandwidth?
Either way, I sure wish grocery story courtesy could apply to washrooms, too: "Oh, no, that's okay. You've only got those 15 seconds of pee, and I've got all this, so you can go on ahead. No worries, man, don't mention it."
Alas, I just don't see that happening.