The Inner Monologue Of A Dude With Urinal Stage Fright

The Inner Monologue Of A Dude With Urinal Stage Fright

When I went to the Kentucky Derby in 2009, it took me two hours to pee in one of the Churchill Downs halfway house troughs. And that’s not me saying, “I waited in line for two hours to go to the bathroom.” That’s me saying, “I walked in and out of the troughs for two hours attempting to pee about every three minutes but came up dry.”

And it’s not even like I’m self-conscious or anything. I mean, am I openly trying to show my spear to the world? Nah. But am I ashamed of what I’m working with? No. If anything, I’ll openly admit that what I’m working with is pretty average. I’m neither ashamed nor proud, so it doesn’t make sense even to me that I stall out in public restrooms.

When I step up to a urinal, my thought process usually goes as such:

Alright, maybe today’s the day.

*Assesses the urinal situation looking for the proper buffer between urinals*

Perfect, that one about two-thirds the way down.


Fuck, every single time I go to the bathroom I remember that these Banana Republic boxer-briefs don’t have a dickhole. Going to have to toss this one through the bottom of the leg.

Alright, it’s about to be a-flowin’.


Shit. Alright. Looks like we’re doing this dance again.

Come on, buddy. Just one time for me. One time.

Are these guys conscious that there’s no stream noise coming from my urinal or am I just so inside my own head thinking that they actually care what my piss sounds like?

Wait, have I ever noticed someone else’s stream? I’m pretty sure I haven’t.

No wonder I can’t fucking pee. I’m playing mental ping pong regarding the audio of the collective bathroom’s pee streams.

Alright, the dude a couple urinals down is walking away. Maybe more space is what I need.

Yes, yes, yes. He’s leaving.

Fuck, did someone else just open the fucking door? This dude is going to stand right next to me.

I swear to God. If he stands near me.

Yep. There it is. He’s right next to me. Gotta call this whole thing off. Stop the presses. Hold my calls. This pee is officially over.

Alright, time for the “fake shake, zip, and inconspicuously go into a stall for complete and utter privacy” move.

*Walks over to the sink and washes hands with hot water in order to get the stream flowing again*

These dudes think I’m such a weirdo for mulling around aimlessly in the sink area.

Fuck it, I’m ducking in the stall. I’ll never see any of these dudes again and if I do and they mention something, I’ll just shame them for being obsessed with me in the bathroom.

*Walks into stall with head down*

Dammit. Everyone knows I’m the little bitch who just had to duck into a stall after freezing at the urinal.

Whatever. This is the Promised Land and no one can take that away from me at this point.

*Floodgates open*

This is unbelievable. It’s like that time a Dutch high school exchange student told me, “A good piss is like half-cumming.” Not even sure if that’s what his broken English intended to say, but this is resonating with me right now.

Wow, still flowing. Nice. Urethral strength of a teenager.

*Zips up*

Alright, how can I Entrapment myself out of this stall without touching anything potentially covered in pee or pubes?

Thank God these are sensor sinks. I’ve been through enough in this bathroom already. Last thing I need is to fuck with sink handles.

*Goes to dry hands*

Are there seriously no fucking paper towels? I’m never pissing in public again.

Image via Shutterstock

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Allen Gamble

I've always got Little River Band loaded up here. I've got six discs.

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