Even if all you do is go in, pee and leave, I have found it interesting, even amusing, the macho ballet that transpires as men quickly decide on a urinal, while others are making every effort not to appear to be gazing too long at anything at all. Some are guardedly unzipping, with furtive glances over their shoulder, right beside bravado boys who couldn’t give a rat’s ass who sees what as they stand a foot away from the urinal letting their stream arch through the air before it descends to the urinal drain. There are dudes who plaster themselves against the porcelain for fear of exposure and make sure they are completely done up before they move on. Others, less cautious, are often still hanging out as they make their way to the sink. Or the door, as the case may be.
Years ago there was a gay bar in a converted Victorian era funeral home here in Toronto. The only clue to its previous roll in the city’s history were the two large gothic windows with pointed tops. This bar had a men’s washroom directly off the main area where customers gathered, beer in hand, to watch the stage show. The interesting feature about this washroom was that there was only a half wall separating the two areas. The urinals were on that half wall, so those men who had to answer nature’s call wouldn’t miss the entertainment. But it seemed to me that they were the entertainment. You could see each man strike that pose and close his eyes as that look of blessed relief appeared on his face. The drag queens on stage often worked the men’s room “chorus line” into their act which always provided a good laugh. Ah, those were the days!- Leo
