Urinal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
This short story is slightly vulgar at times, so simply use caution if that offends you. Thanks for reading!

Submitted: April 26, 2017

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Submitted: April 26, 2017

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Remember those days when you walked into the boy's restroom and you would always see the kid that pissed at the urinal with his pants around his ankles? Those days when the girl's restroom was like a universe of the unknown and you had no idea what went on in there, except you knew that girls all pissed sitting down? C'mon, you remember. I know you do. It was when you would go to the small, fenced-in playground for recess and you didn't know where you belonged because the kids playing basketball, or football, or kickball never picked you because you weren't very good at those sorts of things, so you went to play tag with the others, but you always got "it" because you weren't fast enough to get away. Then, your recess would turn into you being "it" chasing kids across that small, fenced in playground. So, the next day at recess, you just sat under that yellow tube slide that kids never really went to because slides were for babies and everyone was too big to really enjoy the way you flew down that tube slide and got shocked by static at the end of it when you got out. You just sat there, collecting rocks that covered that dusty, small, fenced-in playground that you took to the teachers because you thought they were cool and unique and that they would become part of that hobby that you never started. Then, the teachers would simply throw them down so all you were left with was a dirty pair of zip-off pants that you took the bottoms off of because you thought it was one of the coolest articles of clothing ever because your mom told you that it was cool to be able to turn your pants into shorts or vice versa. 

Like, you remember when you realized why girls always got to take their purses to the bathroom with them, even though you knew their cell phone was right next to their pads or tampons, even if they weren't on their period. But you had after school detention because your phone went off in Social Studies class because you forgot it was in your jacket pocket of your big, puffy Winter coat. Even though you only had 100 minutes a month, and it was for emergencies, your mom felt it was appropriate to call and tell you, at that exact moment, that you left your house key at home and that it would be in the mailbox when you got home. There's no way you don't remember those moments when you got caught picking your nose by the other kids that you knew picked their noses too, but they would yell to the entire class what you were doing, just for the joys of calling you out and embarrassing you. Like when you never had the newest games or the name brand clothes because you couldn't afford them like the kids that were nurtured into a more well-endowed socioeconomic class than you, so you never got the attention from the hot girls that you didn't want to admit you liked. 

You have to remember it. Of course you do. That's when you saw the blueprints for how humans work, the societal norms, human interaction, and ultimately the world in which you drag yourself upon the concrete just to have nothing but scraped, bleeding knees. Those were the moments you have now come to realize that the playground was nothing more than a metaphor for life, except they were in Layman's terms so that your pea-sized brain could comprehend them. Instead of kids not picking you for basketball, or football, or kickball, the Chief Executive Officers for the big companies (the ones that make the real money) aren't picking you for that $100,000 a year position with a grand benefits package that includes full coverage for health, dental, and vision for you and your entire family (that you also don't have) and that sweet 401K. Instead of the kids tagging you to be "it", they're the hospital bills, car payments, student loans, mortgages, and dreams that you'll never be able to catch up with in the end. Those girls that took their purses to the bathroom even though they weren't on their period and just wanted to text to their best friend how hot the well-endowed socioeconomic guy was, are only the people that get away with doing actual criminal activity everyday, while you get a speeding ticket for going seven miles per hour over the posted speed limit that one time you were late for work. 

Yeah, now you remember. It was way back when you didn't know that people were so terrible as to pretend to be your friend, but really they were just trying to wait for the perfect opportunity to put a handwritten "Kick Me" sign on your back. It was so long ago that you didn't even yet know that people would laugh at you, never with you, about those zip-off pants you used to wear. Those are the years that are indicative of the human nature. It was back then that you were given the cartography for society, except you didn't understand how to read it, so you got lost in the middle of nowhere, completely illiterate. 

Now you definitely remember. When you walked into the men's restroom at Go-Mart and saw a man with his pants at his ankles, just like way back when, you realized that people never change. You realize the only difference is that instead of pissing in a urinal, the guy is coming in some girl's mouth. Some daughter of some mother and father of some house in some neighborhood. Now that it's too late, you wish you would have taken the time to read that map that you were given. It was handed to you, in the simplest of ways so that you could understand it, but you ignored it and pushed it aside. 

While you tongue the inside of the octagonal, steel hole that's inside of your mouth, you finally remember it. You finally remember why you're going to let red gunk and brain matter slide down that yellow tube slide, and why you're going to fly down it one more time. And it all started with that kid with his pants around his ankles taking a piss in the urinal. 


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