Being Father's Day, we went out to dinner at the location of my paternal parent's choosing: T.G.I.Friday's. It started out as any normal meal, we all ordered our beverages, deliberated what our meals would be, engaged each other in pleasant conversation.
Let me backtrack a bit and tell you a bit about one of my minor quirks. I do not enjoy going to the bathroom in public restrooms. The thought of putting my bare ass on the same seat that some possibly anal wart-infested, herpes-spreading man sat on and could have even pissed on the seat grosses me out. This doesn't bother many people. This bothers me. Seeing as how I had been out of the house since about 11:00 a.m. in order to make it to New York City, it would be natural that I would have to urinate at least once by dinnertime. Now, you're probably asking yourself, "Why didn't Anton just use a bathroom in New York City?" The answer to this is simple and I will respond with a simile. Going to the bathroom in New York City is like having intercourse with Paris Hilton: it gets the job done, but you don't know what diseases you're going to come out with. Anyways...as if going to the bathroom in a public place is bad, there's no chance that I'm going to in a random New York bathroom. I'd let my bladder explode first. Now, where were we?
Ah, yes. I had to go to the bathroom pretty badly. We had just ordered our food and my father announced that he was going to the bathroom. What a perfect opportunity! I thought, as I could spend some quality father-son time walking the ten feet to the bathroom and I could share in the splendor that is Father's Day. We had a great walk, momentous and enthralling, such that conversation wasn't even needed. There was such a tight, kinetic bond that we silently strode to the lavatory to get down to business. (I understand the the preceding line sounded kinda bad but oh well.) We walk in (I hold the door for him) and bam!:
If you are a man, you immediately understand the problem. There were only two urinals in the bathroom and here we have an adult urinal and a kiddie urinal. As if it wasn't awkward enough that we'd have to stand next to each other, the fact that one of us would be degraded to the baby urinal was just plain humiliation. We both hesitated, perplexed at the situation at hand. A multitude of factors came into play.
First of all, I am taller than he is. The general unspoken rule is that the taller person gets the one that's higher off the ground for purely practical reasons. However, there is also the question of respect, as he is my elder and my father. Not only that, but it was freaking Father's Day! What do I do? WHAT DO I DO???
Simple. I calmly walk up to the larger urinal, unzip, and let loose. I made the tough decision for my benefit and totally disrespected his honor. If we were asian, I would probably be kicked out of the family. He walks into the open stall and does his thing. I finish first and wash my hands.
Knowing I have committed an atrocity, I wait for him to come out and wash his hands. I hand him a paper towel and hold the door for him. Redeemed!