Pissers

I think about urinals too much.

My parents didn’t spend money taking their children to restaurants or anywhere else that had exotic places to piss. Before I started school, I only knew about toilets and free-range urination on trees.

My awareness of public restrooms started at Central School.  The kindergarten had its own bathroom, but no urinal. So, my introduction to the wonderful world of non-toilet-based liquid waste management devices came when I entered the first grade and discovered the school’s common lavatory.  I was intimidated and intrigued by the new situation.  I wasn’t sure what to do until I saw an older student step-up and get the job done.

Since then, I have learned the rules of public whizzing and have been exposed to all kinds of urinals.

There are three rules when using a urinal.

1. Keep your eyes to yourself. You can’t peek at what your neighbor is packing.  It’s just not done. You look up, down, or straight ahead. This decree must be obeyed at all costs, without exception.  
2. Don’t miss.  But, my god, some slobs have horrible aim.  
3. Only urine goes in a urinal. No foreign objects like gum or cigarette butts.  There’s a garbage can right behind you, dammit. 

That’s pretty much it for the rules: eyes to yourself, don’t miss, no foreign objects.   Sounds easy enough, right?

Most urinals are the boring white boxy things brought to you by Kohler or American Standard.  They’re like Wonder Bread— just not inspiring.  And don’t get me started on automatic flushing.

But there are more fascinating facilities. The men’s room at the original Butch’s Bar in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, had my favorite version, what I call the “can’t miss” style. – This antique fixture was tall and wide and went all the way to the floor. The off-white porcelain had thousands of small cracks that looked like a map of a European city.

Tragically, Butch’s burned down in 2022 but Franks’ Oasis, a bar on north Sheridan Road in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood, has some excellent examples of this classic. I recommend a visit. It’s worth the trip.

More than forty years ago, the men’s rooms at Comiskey Park and the old Chicago Stadium provided challenging environments for voiding beers. I imagine Wrigley Field had the same situation, but I was born into a family of Sox fans.  Why would anyone pay to see the Cubs? Anyhow, the men’s restrooms at Comiskey and the Stadium only had long steel troughs.  All the customers stood shoulder to shoulder while doing their business. This situation put everyone at risk of violating the primary rule: keep your eyes to yourself. A true gentleman only looked straight ahead or up. If you glanced down, you might see something that can’t be unseen. Rules two and three were ignored.  That floor was as slippery as an ice rink and the trough had cigarette butts, soggy cigar stubs, gum and hot dog wrappers, beer cups, ticket stubs, spark plugs, Saint Christopher medals and any other crap imaginable.

And then there’s what may be the most interesting urinal in the known world – not just for what it is, but for who was there.

The story took place in December of 2016 at an office Christmas dinner in San Luis Obispo, California.  We met at the Madonna Inn, a legendary local restaurant where everything is pink, red, or gold.  The round booths are upholstered in pink.  The tablecloths are red. The ceiling includes pink trim and massive gold chandeliers.  The rugs feature huge red roses.  If you look up “gaudy” in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of the Madonna Inn.  I thought, “The food better be good, because the decor is making me nauseous.”

My co-worker, Dave, knew that this was my first visit to the Inn. “Tony,” he said, “you have to go see the urinal in the basement.”  Did he know I’m a sucker for a new urinal?

After dinner, nature called so I went down a narrow set of stairs and found the men’s room.  There it was: not really a fixture; more like a feature.  The urinal was an eight-foot-wide waterfall flowing from the ceiling down a stone wall to a tile floor that sloped back to carry the water into a hidden drain. This was bladder relief at a whole new level.  Luckily, I was alone and didn’t have to worry about keeping my eyes under control.  

I finished and washed my hands like Mom taught me.

As I ascended the stairs, another man was coming down.  This wasn’t just any other man though – he was Bill Walton, the fabled NBA star.  Walton. a 6’11’ center, won multiple NCAA and NBA titles and many awards.  He’s in the f’ing NBA Hall of Fame. 

As I passed him, I said, “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Bill Walton?”

He smiled and said, “My mother.”

We had a moment.

I felt extremely lucky. I escaped taking a leak next to this giant in front of the waterfall.  How could I not look?  His package would have been virtually at eye level.  Was it proportional? What was the circumcision situation?

I am weak and probably would have had a look.  He would have caught me – and our moment would have been very, very different.