Using a urinal is the most socially awkward part of being a man
I didn’t even need a wee anyway
As a man, going to the toilet is one of life’s most uncomfortable experiences. The porcelain altars are configured for optimum splash-back; moreover, urinal etiquette is a quandary. Granted, we need not take selfies, re-do make-up, nor reassure each other about recent break-ups (all the things we assume girls are doing in there based on years of television and cliche) but our rules are more nebulous and therefore more complicated.
For example, starting a conversation mid-flow is annoying and highly disconcerting. Never be that guy. Sure, I recently followed you on Instagram; this does not justify you to engage me in conversation while my wang is out.
There is always a bloke who unleashes their junk like they’re lifting a bag of rocks. And is an elongated and alarmingly sexual exhaling of breath really necessary? My distaste isn’t born out of masculine inadequacy – that’s an article for another time – rather, for the peacocking ritual itself.
In fact, I dislike using urinals so much in clubs I will pretend to be on something – sniffing like I’ve just smashed a seven gram rock – to justify my use of the cubicle (“Is my nose bleeding? Well, it feels like it’s bleeding”). The post-pee willy-wiggle is something I am yet to perfect and doubt anyone has. Dribbling down your own leg is not the action of a man. And lord, protect me from the droplets of someone else’s vigorous shake.