I don't normally write about this sort of thing, but there's little else for me to do while the software is building. I've done the walking trips about the office. Nothing to see. I've sat in front of the browser and hit 'Refresh' more times than is necessary, desperately waiting for e-mail, like waiting for the phone to ring - nothing.
I was in the bathroom earlier today, on the crapper doing my business. I don't know how many people would be willing to admit to this, but I like to look through the gaps in the stall doors at what's happening outside. It's a reverse form of the popular Japanese and German practice of bathroom voyeurism.
After doing my thing and cleaning up, I opened the stall door and went to wash my hands. In the mirror I couldn't help but notice two men stood up in front of the urinals. Normally I wouldn't take any notice of this beyond a glance. Something struck me. No, not one of their fists. The contrast of two men, about equal height, both working for the same company.
Jay was wearing an older pair of jeans, torn badly just below the right rear pocket, an abused white corporate tee-shirt tucked tactlessly into his jeans. He was wearing a thin belt. Richard wore a newer, at least cleaner, pair of jeans. He wore a checked shirt tucked into his pants. He wore a slim, elegant black belt. Jay's hair is thick and wiry, a little to long. Richard has 'manager hair', which is to say its dirty blond, thick and straight. It falls just shy of the base of his neck and down in front of his eyes. He must have to brush it aside to see.
What struck me in particular was the way each approached the problem of urination. How should one stand? Where do ones hands go? One hand or two? Jay was using one hand, the other placed on his front left hip. His head leaned forward, and his legs only slightly spread. Richard, however, had one hand placed squarely on his hip in an authoritarian pose, legs spread and firmly planted. After Jay was done and at the lavatory, Richard moved both hands to behind his back and locked his thumbs under his belt and, I suppose, just let 'it' ('it' being his penis) hang in mid-air and continue to do it's work.
What would make a man do that? What air of confidence is required over your penis control to risk it flopping about and sopping you with yellow? Who knows. Perhaps it's a reaction of his status as director or VP of engineering. Jay, some developer. I guess where we arrive is a reflection of how we go.
