I live in
New York. It occurs to me that I've seen these in other cities, and possibly other countries, but I am positive that they
absolutely are plentiful in
NYC. It also occurs to me that they might--just might, for I have not
ventured into any great number of
female places of relief--be wholly or mostly
unknown to our
womenfolk. Hence, this
write-up:
Sometime in the last few years, Madison Avenue figured out it had a large and almost totally captive audience in males of the urinating variety. Now, all males that I've ever met urinate; and when outside the home, they frequently (but by no means exclusively) use that paean to plumbing, the urinal.
Now, when standing at a urinal, as I'm sure you can imagine, ladies, there's not much to do aside from the business at hand. Looking at your fellow urinators is largely regarded as uncivilized. Talking to them is nearly universally out of the question. Consequently, pondering your own urinary prowess--is that a cigarette butt I could perhaps dismantle?--is the only viable alternative to staring blankly at the wall before you.
Blank white space? Stared at for several seconds uninterrupted? In retrospect, it seems unfathomable that MadAv didn't figure this one out decades before. But it's a recent phenomenon, I swear: now you look not at mere white tiles and their oft-accompanying graffiti--Ramon, why don' you love me? Fer a gud time, call Jenny--but rather at slick corporate ads for products that make sense for today's urinating male.
Hallelujah! Finally I can be pissing away my life in a bar and read ads for gin, or dot-coms, or legal and courteous escort services! The times, my friends, are truly grand.