Toilets Die In Darkness

Tips and tricks for the socially conscious, modern man

I bet you thought the title was a reference to The Washington Post, didn't you? I mean, it might be. My Editor isn't sure.

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We live in half a house. It’s a sort of duplex with the rent of a full house, considering it’s in Seattle. The layout is strange and tiny, so at night the light from the bathroom can spill into the bedroom before I can frantically slam the door as quickly and quietly as possible. I’m not trying to wake anybody up by reminding them my body expels fluid occasionally. Not like that anyway.

Megan sleeps early and leaves me with tons of time to myself and my games in the later evening. Unfortunately, I choose to guzzle Mountain Dew during my me time. I could lift weights or snort quinoa, but nah. I play games and write stuff and imbibe. It's better than sucking down a bottle of wine a night, says the guy who can't afford it and is probably wrong.

Considering my urine output more or less matches my corn syrup input, I’m using the can four times on a good night. That is a lot of opportunity to accidentally wake someone up with my rampant water closet consumption.

So I piss in complete darkness, instead. This too isn't without its challenges.

Normally, simply urinating in the dark is the easiest thing in the world. As easy as during the day even. Just quit fighting it and voila you're nature boy now. There’s possibly some mess, true. Easy, effortless, warm mess and the shower is right there anyway.

But, the eternal challenge is and always has been directing our manly streams in more socially and environmentally responsible ways. Progress has been made and this sisyphean struggle has taken on different forms over the years.

In a military camp of the ancient world this meant pissing in a professional cesspit dug specifically for depositing cess. The requirements weren’t too stringent; just get it in or around the hole in the ground and we’re good, Gregario. If you don't manage it, that’s no problem. We wash our hair in it, anyway.

Some time after that, it meant splashing a bit at a chamber pot. This was more troublesome than a cesspit due to size alone, but at least it was mobile. You could use it on the bus! Of course in Seattle most don't bother even with that. Our public policy approach to urine-soaked public spaces is a scrunched nose and a briny shrug.

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In private spaces aiming to preserve a semblance of civilization it means getting most your deposit in the toilet bowl. A tiny bowl, chained to the floor, taking you down with it. With the lights out, you need to take extra special care. Evolution has failed to prepare you for precision night peeing.

So let me give it a shot.

First, square up on the sorry trickle target of choice. Your legs should be shoulder width apart, bent if that's your style, and resemble a golfer's stance with a similar grip. Again, if that's your style. And length. Personally I struggle to get a grip on my own. Like trying to pick a kernel of rice out of a Chia Pet. In any event, point your hosebeast at a general approximation of the center of the bowl and let her rip.

You want to hear water contacting water. If you hear water hitting tile, or wood, or wallpaper, or a screeching cat, correct course immediately. You have a fifty percent chance of getting the correction right. I've done the math on this. Maintain position making tiny corrections as needed.

As pressure in the living hose that is you fades you’ll need to project and glide right along it’s flight path. Adjust smoothly. It’s easy to get caught up congratulating yourself for not pissing on the cat this time. Stay focused. Don't worry if Will Smith was right to slap Chris Rock. He wasn't. Shhhhh. You're peeing now.

The time for congratulations comes only after shaking and holstering your piece. Which you may now do.

It takes quite a bit of practice, but by the end of three months of this I’d say I hit the target blind eighty percent of the time. That’s four out of five bullseyes with the fifth being a mulligan. That’s a professional record.

Don't give me any guff about only using mulligans off the tea. With this gear and my rampant soda consumption, each bathroom adventure is a line drive and it’s my game anyway. I’d cheat at golf and/or Solitaire any day just to get it over with.

Now, my Editor informs me any woman reading this piece would be interested in signaling how disgusting men are by pointing out I have included no instruction regarding the washing of hands. This unconscionable defamation and vile calumny of an entire gender cannot stand, however. This reasoned omission is based entirely on the fact it is completely true and I have no defense.

That’s why I wrote a piece to make men better after all. My Editor tells me I’m writing one on scrubbing floors, next. For justice.

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