#fiction - On Pissing at the Girls Room

I was standing in line at the Druid, waiting for my turn in the men's room.

I wandered in thought.

Thinking about an Irish musician who said Paris is where he will be for St Patrick's day "Because that is where the money is."

It was taking the first gentleman extra long, so as I thought out things that had to do with the Irishman's proclamation, I drifted toward the door marked "Women"

I opened the door and moved to step in. But an arm extended in front of me. A women started talking.

"You cant go in there, its the ladies room."

I responded,

"I'd be rich if I had a dollar every-time a woman came out of the men's room."

"That's different," she said dismissively.

"Why? It may be true that I piss straighter than most women."

She waved her hand and responded, 

"I could piss any way I want as long as the seat is up and no one would notice."

I looked at the man standing next to this woman, he smiled. I looked back at her,

"That's great, but I'm still going in there."

She asked

"Do you like this place, yes or no?"

"Why?"

"Yes or no?"

"I don't have time for this."

"Because I like it, I live here. It's my favorite place.  And if you go in there, you'll violate them on the sanitary code."

"Sanitary code? What are you, Health Department?"

"Yes, I am."

"Here in Cambridge?"

"No, Boston."

"What's your name?"

"Kelly."

I took out and passed her my business card.

"Kelly, my name is Robert. I've been in ten thousand Boston apartments. You are doing a horrible job."

"Well that's residential. I'm commercial."

"Oh really. You know one time I made my entire class raise their hand without saying a word by just raising my hand and leaving it up."

She looked at the fella she was with and said

"You know, one time, in band camp--"

I cut her off---

"It has nothing to do with band camp. It has to do with black mold in bathrooms, bed bugs in the bedrooms, vegetation growing on the walls in the living room, and 16 people living in a 1 bedroom apartment. Among other things."

"But that's residential, I'm--"

"Set a proper example in one segment of the market, it affects the other segment. Do that. Now excuse me."

I stepped toward the woman 's bathroom again , and again Kelly's arm went up to block me. She said

"If you go in there, you will violate the Druid."

I looked at her arm then into her eyes. I pointed at the sign "Women."

"You see this sign? Well 'A Rose is a Rose is a Rose is a Rose.' And that comes from Gertrude Stein, the most femi-nazi of all y'all. So, I'm cool. Good night."

Her arm dropped. I brushed past her, stepped into the Women's room, closed the door. I proceeded to piss straight into the bowl. My piss stream landed in the very center of the water and stayed on target. My piss never touched porcelain, only Cambridge City Water. I used a wad of toilet paper to flush the toilet and the same wad to open the door. I did not wash my hands because they only touched my clean dick.

Kelley was gone when I came out. The man she was with was still there. He shrugged. I finished my drink, paid my tab, walked home, ate peanut butter and fell asleep watching True Detective.

how do i deconstruct thee

"how do i deconstruct thee"

consider a world of female rule---
the laws of those nations would
have evolved from a set of
circumstance that did not
rightfully sanction chaos in
the mind to assert one's claim
of his need to purge
and assert his image on every rock.

there would be no highway roads
blasted through mountain trees,
no stream held back by foreign
sediment, no beach house
teetering on the edge of doom,
no cities built on fault lines,
no wastelands oozing gas,
no grasslands gone to waste.

our school days and church hours
would be consumed by good chore
and driven by fit duty,
our choices at the crossroads
would never cause the palms
to look sweaty or raise
eyebrows from our neighbors' glances
or incite our reckless abandon.

the leviathan would swim at bay
and never surface upon the land
of Cain, for the effort to strike
at gravity would seem too great
measured against the rewards of
touring a barren land as a sower
of the seeds of mean, just to see
the drones all happy with their queens.

what would rise in the stead of
doom treaties, not the fish with teeth,
not the owl of the hour glass,
not the riler of nostre pater,
not even the singer of con,
but a pure stream of mist,
hot to the stars and cool at port,
anamolously leading storm from shore.

---there would be no care
for the fountain or its source,
the stars above could tell you
the queen of drones is love,
what more could be played by the
hand of fate when chance folds,
what lady is luck when all heads
in the room are cool, but queen today
                      and god tomorrow.