Ode de urinal

The urinal is gone from the men's bathroom on the floor where I work.

There's an ugly place on the wall and a hole crammed with dirty paper towels where the pee pipe used to be. It looks so empty. So useless. So - unpeeable.

That urinal is, well...was, very important to me. I've travelled around a whole bunch of the world and much of the United States. I've drank beer everywhere I've gone (except a couple of times when I stayed in the pokey). And I've peed in the finest and lowest repositories in all the lands. But this one, this urinal is supremely important to me. This one is almost as important to my life as the one in the house where I grew up and threw up. This urinal is the one where I've peed the most. This urinal was my dependable and reliable place of relief for far longer than any other urinal in the world. This urinal was my peedom.

And now it's gone.

Which caused me to be thinking.

What do they do with dead urinals? Do they package it up in the box it came in and send it back to the manufacturer for repair? Like my computer?

Would someone take a job fixing that?

Of course they would. That's why we let the Hispanics sneak in here. To do jobs exactly like that. "The jobs that Americans won't do". Resurrect dirty urinals must be one of those type jobs.

But what would you do? What's there to fix? How can you break or how can you wear out a urnial. Not many parts and even fewer moving ones. The moving parts can be replaced very simply with one or more trips to the local Handy Dan's store. The urinal itself, now really, what's to break. And what are you going to break it with?

So why did they take my urinal?
I'm sure they'll replace it with something nice. Something pristine. Something sanitary. Something lonely. With no history. With no life.

There's a tree outside.
I may not ever return to that bathroom. It breaks my heart. I'll just stand by that tree. Ignore me please. I'm not peeing, I'm mourning.