Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Scattered Showers

In the summer, when you're wearing shorts and flip flops at the urinal, you yearn for the winter months when you'll be protectively clad with slacks and shoes. Ignorance was bliss.

It's not something I'm just making up either. The splash zone is a real thing. It's a phenomenon that any man can attest to, however subtle the spray may be. It became even more apparent to me after traveling in shorts and flip flops for the past two weeks.

The splash zone doesn't take the urinal cake, though. Back in the 90's, when LaVell Edwards Stadium was Cougar Stadium, the stadium's arsenal of urinals was preceded by a solitary urine trough attached to the washroom wall. Tommy and I walked in one day and saw a man using the trough, and much to his chagrin, his toddler placed a hand on the lip of the trough and started making an airplane sound. The revving of the airplane engine confirmed the father's number one fear. I could sense the urgency of the situation and could read the terror on the father's face, but it was too late. It all happened in one fluid motion. The father desperately reached out his right hand and screamed, "NOOOooo!" as his son's hand slid across the entire sickening stretch of the 10 yard urinal. First down! Trough luck. Urine trouble.

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