Monday, March 15, 2010

I saw an old man’s nude rear end today. I know you’re thinking, “Well of course you did, Matt, if your Internet history is any indication you see a dozen of those every five minutes.” But the one I saw today, a round, hairy, leathery mass, was right in front of me, very much in the flesh. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. It was like when you get ambushed in a magazine by that ad with the kids with the deformed lips. Except instead of a still image, this guerrilla attack (gorilla attack, based on the amount of hair) was alive and in front of me. And it was peeing at the same time.

Let me rephrase. The rear end wasn’t peeing. That would have been fascinating to watch, and if this old man’s digestive system had mutated itself its very own cloaca, where all of his body’s waste processing was done out of one reptilian hole, then bravo to him and he should be free to show that thing off whenever he pleases. But that wasn’t the case. This man was using the urinal in the gym bathroom and for whatever reason his pants and underpants were lounging at his ankles, seeming to be on a much-needed vacation from the day-to-day stress of his waist. There are a few potential innocent reasons he did this. Maybe he was extremely hot or had a fever only in his ass. Maybe he was smuggling a few non-members into the gym and they were ready to climb out. Maybe he was recently in a grizzly car accident and had his windpipe re-routed to merge with his rectum and it’s difficult to breathe with the pants up.

Those explanations seem fishy. I suspect this was a deliberate move. There are multiple ways to prepare the penis for peeing that do not require the pants to completely evacuate the scene. You can go over the undies and through the hole (to grandmother’s house we go) in the pants, through the undies hole and the pants hole, out the side of the undies and through the hole, or all of those undie method and over the pants. It might even be more socially acceptable to wet your pants than it is to expose your fuzzy glutes to an unwilling audience.

If this man had been six years old or younger, his behavior would be okay. When boys are in that range, they’re still curiously exploring the uncharted world of public bathrooms, discovering what new treasures and monuments await, and consulting the experienced users on what to do. They’re conquistadors on the hunt for fresh porcelain. I remember a kid in my first grade class dropping his pants to the floor and sitting in the urinal to take a dump in it. Obviously he didn’t think it through. There’s no toilet paper around, and if you flush, the back of your shirt’s gonna get a nice even soaking of toilet water. But he just saw a big white thing with water in it and identified it as a perfect receptacle for his poop. He gets a free pass because he was six. This sixty-five year old guy is a different story.

When I wrecked my car when I was sixteen I had to take an eight-hour defensive driving class. The guy who mooned me should have to take a two-hour How to Piss class. We’d just go over a few basic steps. One: Aim. Two: Pee. Special Note: Don’t show anyone your butt cheeks. It’s not like this guy didn’t know what he was doing. He was definitely a seasoned veteran and his confident stance proved it. He held his hands on his hips, looking like either a proud ruler surveying his newly conquered lands (and peeing on them), or a bored tourist waiting on the people in the cruise’s buffet line to move forward (and peeing on them). That’s not the stance a rookie takes. I imagine someone post-gender switch, standing in the hospital bathroom operating his gear for the first time (after reading the user manual and analyzing countless sixth-grade health book schematics) hangs on with the death grip used by the handlers of venomous snakes, trying his hardest to tame the wily creature and make sure it doesn’t spill anything.

This guy, though, was in control and free as a bird. When he finished he pulled up his sweatpants and walked right out as if nothing had happened. As if no one had seen anyone’s ass in there. Maybe he wanted me to see his rear. Maybe he wanted someone else to see his rear, as a signal that he did his part in a drug deal (“If my ass is bare, the cash is there”). I didn’t identify the guy beyond the two hairy hams that constituted his behind (being mooned is like looking at a flashbulb when it goes off—the rest of the scene is at best a haze) and I don’t think I’ll ever find out why he dropped his pants to the ground. But on the bright side I can be thankful that he was peeing in that urinal and not trying to poop in it, so I didn’t have to see either of his elderly balls.

No comments: