Enough about little girls. Time for a guided meditation.

Get comfortable.
You comfortable? Warm place? Comfortable position, loose clothes?
Breathing deeply and regularly, eyes closed?
I’ll walk you through.
You’re a guy and you are doing something in Vienna, walking around waiting for the Democrats Abroad Election Night Party to start, that’s it, and you’ve had a couple pints and you really have to piss bad. So you make a detour and walk over to the public toilets on the Graben, which were designed by the famous fin-de-siecle architect Adolf Loos, whom the Austrians like to claim as one of theirs although he was Czech.
Only, this being a cold wet night and your bladder being increasingly full, the public toilets are closed indefinitely. Although the city itself is beautiful, dark and wet and cold.
So you make another detour and walk past the subway station at Stephansplatz and think, “subway station = restrooms” and tell yourself, relax, this is Austria, how bad could they be?

Relax, and keep your eyes closed. You with me?

Luckily there’s no toilet lady waiting outside to make you pay, because you’re out of change. The restroom is brightly lit and spacious but, dreamlike, grows smaller and dirtier with each corner you turn as you work your way to the urinals.

Finally you’re at the urinals. You check the floor for puddles: dry.

There are eight urinals in a row. Three men are already there, standing like three men would in that situation: the first man, in a leather jacket, standing at the first urinal on the right as you come in. Then two vacant urinals, then a man in a suit. Then two more vacant urinals, and a man in a jacket and corduroy pants. Then, finally, on the far left, a last empty urinal.

Where do you stand? You will choose one of the first two vacant urinals, because there’s no point in walking further to face the same situation again. So do you stand next to the guy with the suit, or next to the guy with the leather jacket? If you stand next to the guy with the suit, you risk being perceived by some indefinite person, yourself perhaps, or someone else, one of the other men in the restroom maybe, or maybe God, as too snooty or too conservative to urinate beside a man in a leather jacket, somehow preferring men in suits, since you yourself wear a suit, and wanting to avoid your actions being interpreted as some classist show of solidarity with other men in suits you choose to stand beside the man in the leather jacket.

This all happens in the wink of an eye, you don’t even break your stride. You plant yourself before the empty urinal beside the man in the leather jacket and release the liquid byproducts of the metabolism of two pints of Guinness Stout into the white porcelain receptacle with great relief. This takes quite some time, and during this time you notice the man in the leather jacket is, of course, not actually peeing and is taking an awfully long time to shake off his dick.

Most men give it a shake when they finish, you know; the especially fastidious might squeeze the last drop out of the urethra with a base-to-point movement one might use trying to get the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube.

There is no excuse for what this guy is doing, however. Look: two pints. You come in late, pee two full pints into the urinal and you’re still the first one done? It occurs to you that you are, in fact, the only one here actually taking a pee.

Thinking, Ah, I get it, you zip up and exit the restroom (washing your hands of course).

Okay, now I’m going to count slowly from five to one, and when I finish you will have only a vague memory of our guided meditation, but a keen understanding of how I felt, on a certain level, when I learned of the “results” of the latest presidential “election” in the United States.