the power of the urinal compels me
January 29, 2010
I’m not much of a spitter–and I don’t just mean that I don’t spit much. I mean that in addition to not spitting much, I don’t spit well. In fact, I spit poorly. So poorly that my biking friends (and by friends, I mean Elden) hosted an intervention to get me to stop spitting on bike rides, at least when I was within one linear mile of another rider.
There is a time when I cannot help but spit. I speculate that the drive to spit when confronted with a urinal holds or held some type of comparative survival advantage to early humans. It may hold an advantage even now, but I cannot divine what that advantage is.
But what I do know is that in the last week, during which I conducted a very scientific test of trying-to-remember-when-I-spit, 100% of the times I peed in a urinal, I spit before, sometimes during, and even sometimes after I peed.
And about half the time when I peed in a regular toilet (like, at a movie when all urinals are occupied), I even spit in the regular toilet. (By “spit” I mean I let saliva drop from my mouth–I didn’t project anything, more like I released something.)
On those times when I peed before or during the actual release, I then amused myself by using the deposit for a target. (I otherwise refrained from amusing myself.)
What is it about urinal peeing that causes this? Do women spit when they pee, or do they spit when peeing only when they use a urinal (I just made myself laugh)? Like I said, I’m not a spitter (which is not the same as not being a blower, but that’s not my assigned topic for today).
But the power of the urinal compels me.