Death Bound: Life Support Edition

It's Potty-Time Somewhere

Within the Men's restroom was one sink, two stalls, and three handsomely simplistic urinals. Middle-aged Ted, dressed in business casual attire, stepped up to one of the urinals, unfastened his belt, unbuttoned then unzipped his pants, and withdrew himself. He didn't aim, he just placed his hands on his hips with his index fingers holding back both flaps of his slacks and let himself hang down like Superman dousing a fire.

Relief flooded through him, or perhaps out, as dark yellow piss began to spray against the white porcelain backing of the urinal.

"How goes it?" a man asked, stepping up to a urinal one over so there was a vacant one between them.

"Paul!" Ted said, a genuine smile on his face. "I'm good. You?"

As Paul slipped on a pair of latex gloves and carefully unfastened his belt, he said, "Can't complain."

They'd worked in the same building for years, so Paul's germaphobia was nothing new. Ted said, "And the trip? Brazil, right? How'd it go?"

Paul's smile faltered.

"Oh," Ted said, recognizing the tension. "Not good, then?"

Paul closed his eyes and breathed out, pleasure washing across his face as he relieved himself. "No, no, it was fine," he said after the initial sensation passed. "Just, you know, would've been better without the Mrs. and the kid, but—" he shrugged, as if to say, "I'm stuck with'em."

Ted chuckled and redirected his pee towards the blue deodorizer block clamped to the side of the urinal. "Tell me about it," he said, before turning his attention to a lone wad of chewed gum stuck in the plastic mesh shielding the drain. Direct hit. "My wife wants to go to Key West this summer, and all I can think is, 'This is it. She's finally gonna catch me checkin' out some cute little ass that jiggles by.'"

Both men chuckled, seemingly in agreeance that this was a likely fate. Ted shook himself free of a few urine droplets then holstered himself before re-tucking his shirt, yanking up his zipper, clasping his button, and finally fastening his belt. He washed his hands, dried them beneath the obnoxiously loud blower, and bid Paul farewell as he exited the restroom.

On the way out, he nearly bumped into a maintenance man fidgeting with the Men's room sign. "Sorry 'bout that," Ted said, and then stopped again to allow a lady exiting the Women's room to go first.

"Laura," he said with a nod.

"Ted."

"I like the haircut." He hadn't even actually looked. Didn't care too. It was brown, or maybe blond, but certainly no more interesting than any other woman's hair.

"Oh, gee, thanks," she answered, running a hand through it. "How's Genie?"

"Oh, fantastic. She couldn't be better. Planning on taking her to the Keys, actually. You know, remind her how special she is to me."

"Awe. That'd be nice. Give her my love, would you?"

"Absolutely," Ted answered as their paths split and he carried on back to his work cubicle.

The day itself was uneventful, and before long it ended on an equally uneventful note. Ted gathered his paperwork, situated it into his suitcase then left his cubicle with a casual wave at some straggling coworkers.

As usual, he stopped at the restrooms to relieve himself before his commute home, but was caught off guard by the signs outside the doors.

Instead of "Men's" and "Women's", they each now read, "Gender Neutral".

He scrunched his face, thinking, What the fuck is this shit? before starting towards the one previously marked, "Men's".

Only, a woman pushed passed and entered first.

Uncomfortable with following her, he went into the other restroom. Within it was one sink and four stalls, but zero urinals. Ted stepped up to one of the stalls, pushed the door open, unfastened his belt, unbuttoned then unzipped his pants, and withdrew himself with the door still open. He didn't aim, he just let it dangle there, spraying urine over the rim of the surprisingly clean porcelain bowl until, like a missile falling out of trajectory, his urine ricocheted back onto his shoes.

"Ah, shitshitshit," he said, taking his hands off his hips to re-aim himself.

"Eww," came a woman's voice behind him. He turned to see Laura as she shielded her line of sight. "Close the door."

"Oh," he said, fidgeting to shut it with one hand as he continued to aim himself with the other. "I'm sorry. I, uh..." and then he let himself fall silent, unsure what to say next as he heard her enter a stall and lock the door behind her.

After his urine trickled out, he hurriedly stuffed himself back in, retucked his shirt, zipped, buttoned, fastened his belt and then, with a hand on the stall wall, sighed and said, "I really am sorry, you know."

Silence.

"So, you, me, and the wives— I mean, my wife and your husband, should, uh, barbeque sometime." Silence. "Okay, well, uh, have a good... um, one."

Grrreat, he thought, shaking his head as he exited his stall and approached the sink. Have a good poo, Laura. Fucking brilliant.

Paul from earlier came in then. "Ted!" he said, squeezing Ted's shoulder with an already gloved hand as a toilet flushed in the background. "Another workday down, bro. A lifetime more to go."

A toilet flushed and Laura's stall door swung open. "Creep," she said, bristling out and pushing between the two men without looking up.

After she exited, Paul raised an eyebrow at Ted, as if tele-pathetically asking, "What the fuckity-fuck was that about?"

Ted just rubbed the back of his neck, praying Laura wouldn't call and tell his wife.

"I mean, she didn't even wash her hands." And then, after stepping away to do his business, he added, "Uh, where's the urinals?"