GUEST BLOGGER

My friend of 25 plus years, Howard Deporte, wrote a delightful, insightful little ditty that I happened to run across on Facebook. His witty style & vivid descriptions were quite enlightening for this female. Howard gave me permission to share his encounter on my blog. Thanks, Howard! His account ran the gamut of making me chuckle quietly to laughing out loud. Without further ado...ENJOY!

Skilled urination, a generational divide.

The spent travelers catapulted out of the plane, exhausted by the flight, eager for bladder relief. Count me as a member of the XY hordes hell bent for the men's room.

I found my urinal, predictably attached to the wall, one of those new waterless types that leaves the depositor pondering, without an answer, how the hell do they do that?

A fellow traveler slipped into the sleeve next to me, a chest-high modesty wall between us. Even though I no longer can pee like a racehorse, I felt like one, next to a competitor, at the gate, ready to race. He's positioned no more than 12 inches to my left.

In the near distance is the theatre of expectant sounds: faucets running, nose blowing as if trying to expel an elephant, hand-blowers sounding like jet engines peeling skin off bone, automatic paper towel dispensers squealing and throwing a tantrum...the usual stuff in a men's bathroom at the airport.

Back to my fellow urinator on my left. Peripheral vision is a dangerous thing. Mine is fully intact. I was facing straight ahead when it was instantly put on alert. Not a "...he's peeking" alert. But more of an OMG, where have I been alert.

With his right hand he was texting, bringing his cell phone within inches of his face. I guess he wanted to make sure he didn't misspell. I can only imagine that his left hand was handling the other tool that was, apparently, effectively and accurately being utilized. This adds a whole new meaning to the adjective "ambidextrous."

Now that's some skill...generational, high-grade, practiced, young people's skill. I can't program a computer. I still don't understand megabytes of data (it sounds like a dinosaur from Jurassic Park) or linking to Wi-Fi or a hotspot. A laptop still amazes me and hand-held computers boggle my puny brain. Admittedly, all the computer-tech stuff is for the kids. But, whether young or leathered like me, we do share common ground. We all have to pee.

Begrudgingly, I have to admit, neither can I do what that guy did ! Show-off.

How does one do that? First, with the left hand, unzip, search, rescue and release, aim and fire, shooting a bullseye, all-the-while, with the right hand, in apparent complete control of all his digits, his thumb tapping away on the miniature keyboard with such speed and grace it reminded me of a Nathan Chen ice skating routine peppered with quads...how does he do that? Phenomenal, breath-taking, envious talent!

As for me, well, let it be said, I have no skills. I need both hands, complete concentration, total focus and good luck, lots of it. I have to watch the process from beginning to end, lest I step back from the urinal unawares of the rainstorm that curiously came out of nowhere attacking my pant legs and shoes.

One thing is for certain, a cell phone in my hand during elimination would end up at the bottom of the trough. I would immediately be horrified and reflexively try to retrieve it from certain death by urine and forget that my process of voiding was still engaged, until it was too late and I'd need a full change of clothes...the redeeming advantage of being in an airport, suitcase in hand.

Oh, to be young again. Imagine. One day the magic man to my left will ponder the evolving skills of the next generation using the urinal at the airport...a cell phone in one hand texting of course, conducting a Google search which is being projected on the forearm connected to the other hand, all apart of an international conference call and verbal instructions to Alexa to manage the nimble but no-nonsense robotic urinal. Happy times ahead!