At this time, I'd like to say a few words about the state of affairs in the men's bathroom at the office in which I work. I am not going to flirt around the fringes of this issue. I am not going to pander to the poor mouth managers who insist that it is being addressed. I will be bold, audacious, and sarcastic, for that it what daily visits to this cesspool have led me to.

It matters not the name of my employer. Suffice to say if I told you, you would picture some powerful, professional bureaucracy, oft-maligned and yet noble minded. But the actuality, as behind stall doors, is that we're all a bunch of poopers. Some of us just do it cleaner than others.

Anyways, our bathroom consists of two urinals, plus another urinal that's only about a foot and a half off of the ground. This makes aiming interesting. Your stream should never have to travel over three feet to reach its destination. The splash results are devastating. It's like when you use your hose without a nozzle; your thumb is just wedged in there like you're trying to plug a leak in a dike Water just spews everywhere.

We also have three customary stalls and one extremely oversized handicap stall. Now I understand that a person with special needs requires a bit more maneuvering room, but you could drive a school bus through there. There is less real estate in my cubicle then there is in that foyer of a room. I don't think you could even call that vast area a stall. It certainly is more spacious than any other stall, be it the bathroom or horse variety. They should call it an arena. A huge forum for dumps. The Parthenon of Poop.

But it's the cleanliness of the bathrooms that I'd like to draw your attention to. Or the lack there of. Each urinal is graced with numerous, squiggly hairs. It looks like a third shift barber is moonlighting in there, snipping and casting hairs about with passionate enthusiasm. What is it that makes displaced pubes so offensive? But the hairs blend nicely with the hardened yellow drops that have affixed them to the white porcelain. Evidently, most of the male employees here have not yet learned the fine art of "tapping". If you permit me to go back to a garden hose analogy It's the same as that last squeeze of the nozzle after the water has been turned off, to assure that everything's out. Or that last press of the gas pump, after you have turned it off, which ensures that you do not drip fossil fuel on your loafers.

Our urinal rims

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