the ladies love it!

when guys don't wash their hands, they always talk about it.

the most common explanations are:

my dick['s] clean

my mom taught me not to piss on my hands

i have no money

whateverrr i'm drrrruuunk

but i got me's a special one last night.

"nah, dude i'm good. i got piss all over my hands though!"

"and you don't wanna wash?

"naaaaah, the ladies love my piss fingers, baby. i can get like three of em suckin my hands off. they can't get enough of piss fingers ;)"

these two other guys were pissing next to each other, one putting his hand on the partition so he can stay standing up.

the one who needs no assistance begins conversation:

"yo, you alright? look like you about to fall over."

"what? i'm good, i'm chillin."

"well then why are you holding yourself up on the wall? you sure you're alright?"

he then proceeds to put his hands being his head as if he's about to receive oral, dawg "oh yeah, i'm chillin"

"what is that?" the other guy responds, "you don't need your hands?"

"nah, dude, i just let it hang."

"shit, i gotta hold it, i'll probably piss on myself otherwise. how big is yours anyway?"

he laughs, shakes his head, and doesn't answer.

dick asking guy (DAG), then comes up to the counter. i offer him soap and a towel.

"man, some people," he laments with a dissapointed tone, "sometimes i just like to come in here and talk. some people could talk enough to write a book, some don't say enough."

i guess not getting a dick size is really getting to him. he continues...

"you know there was a fight earlier?"

"no shit," i say.

"yeah man, you gotta have a good time, cause if you ain't, then you're having a bad time."

as he says this he turns and looks at the guy who didn't answer. apparently his silence is really making DAG have a bad time.

he finally responds: "haha, man, you're a short story at best. i'm an epic novel."

i never thought that would be a metaphor for dick size.

the more you know ~~~~^***

great poise in the pocket.

i had my first shift on a football night on monday, october 4th. what fantastic social lubricant! we're talking serious man flirting. when a dolphins fan came in, his body slumping down, drowning his imminent defeat in whatever cheap beer cemented his coming week's failure, i assured them of worse things.

"i'm a bucs fan," i'd say, putting my hand on a jersyed shoulder. "at least you have a chance."

"my week is fucking over, bro" he responds. "i'm not even gonna go out this weekend!"

in the wake of his sadness i offer a cigarette or a hand wash, he doesn't bite. looks like we're both stayin in.

a patriots fan comes in. i perk up to meet his joyous attitude.

"yoooo," i say, "did you see that kick return?! so so sweet!"

"fuck yeah, baby, patriots forever! you rootin for 'em too?"

"actually, i'm a bucs fan, and i guess i'm rootin for the 'fins since they're down. but i can still appreciate crazy plays like that. that was sooo dirty."

i move like i'm dodging. "skiiirrrrrt"

"damn the bucs? i'm sorry, bro"

"ah, whatever, we're 2-1, we have a chance. so are you here with a buncha friends or what?"

"yeah, dude, and they're all dolphins fans!"

"that's so kickass, i bet you just talk sooo much shit right now."

"dude, you have no idea. the shit talking is endless."

as the game gets more one sided, the football talk becomes less fun. all the dolphins fans have completely resigned, and it's no longer a thrill for patriots fans that they're winning. it has devolved in a regular, slow night.

and then

a man comes in about 6'2, terribly gelled fauxhawk, ed hardy-like shirt, acid washed jeans, good physical shape. somewhere between a model, and a man doing drag of himself.

he asks, "yo if you were a girl/gay (couldn't tell which one he said) would you wanna fuck me?"

i grin and bat my eyes, unable to otherwise respond.

"oh no, i'm not gay or anything, i just need a confidence booster."

he looks in the mirror, pulls his sleeve up and flexes a slightly toned pasty bicep.

"you'd hit that right?"

i sip on my drink till it makes an annyoing slirp sound.

i can't give you anything but(t) love.

it is kind of strange figuring out when to talk to someone who is urinating. maybe i shouldn't talk to them at all, says the guy who drunkenly, if not aimlessly--thank jebus--launched three darts at my head because "i should know better than to say hey to someone who is trying to piss." a lot of guys though, wait. after unleashed and mid relief, they start lookin around and chat me up. it's an interesting phenomenon. in some bathrooms any view is blocked by a partition, in others depending on an angle i get a glimpse at many a phallus, taking the form of various kinds belts . they could be [knock off] leather, perhaps a guy harvey rhinestone, or even a 'punk rock' belt dick. either way, i must watch my eyes, and my tongue, for a curious wanderer gets little tips ;). a few nights ago, a guy unzipped looked at me and removed his pants, boxers and all, down to his ankles, and as i was 'forced' to look at his bare ass...

"BOOYAH! there's a lil' treat for ya!"

so far though, an all time favorite, was at the end of my [first] night at one particular bar...these two guys walk in arms around one another drunkenly stumblin and singing along to la roux's 'bullet proof'. there's a partition separating two of the stalls, but one guy pays it no mind directly starting over the wall taking his friend in full view. i puff on a cigarette while he begins to lament:

"dude, your dick makes mine look...puny i'm so embarassed"

he begins to respond, "dude..."

i take a puff...

"...don't worry about it man. your'e fine. it's all about confidence."

"thanks, dude, but how can i be confident, pissing next to that"

i laugh a little, and attempt to mask it by quickly inhaling. i cough like i've never smoked.

"aw shit, this bathroom guy thinks we're gay! guy, we're NOT gay."

"hey man, i don't assume anything. i learned early on that i can't really get a square read on anyone. i see so much crazy shit. i wouldn't worry about it."

"but seriously though, we're straight." he turns to his friend, "hahaha, this guy things we're faahhgggs.

"we're totally straight," he assures my while handing me 4 singles.

"i appreciate the tip, but i don't care if you're gay. if you are, i've got shields. take a couple, and do your thing. if you're not, whatever, this kind of shit happens in here every night ;)"

nekbromancer

this guy enters the bathroom. he's already tipped...

'sup dude?'

'my friend says that i've got some comb over action goin on. says if i fix it this chick'll be crazy about me.'

'yeah?...i wouldn't call that a comb over, but i see what he's saying. got some gel if ya want it.'

'nah, that's alright. gel gives it that wet look, i don't really like it.

'haha, as you use water to style your hair...'

'ah whatever, i don't really care about her opinion, i'm just doin' this for my boy anyways. she'll sleep with me regardless.'

'hmm...well if you fix it just right maybe you can get with him too...'

check your bias at the door...

ya know, a lot of people, upon encountering their first bathroom guy, ask "why aren't you working the women's bathroooom? that's gotta be where it's at!" it does always make me chuckle. i always retort with, "nah, i suspect most women don't carry cash. that's what you're here for."

plus, every guy in here keeps gooooooooin on and on that there are no cute girls out there, and as soon as one sets her cute self in here, you yell at her! i'm pretty sure they'd do the same thing to you, if you walked in, and it would be way to hard to break the dynamic for me.

"alright, alright maybe so..."

"oh i know so baby, and the things is, you don't want girls in here. cause this is where you wanna fuck with your boys. man flirt a lil bit, it's all good. that's probably what they're doing in there." *shrug* "the best thing is, when the girls do come in here and you guys aren't in here. cause then i can flirt like crazy. they can dig it, because i'm making them comfortable in an otherwise uncomfortable space, and they know it isn't real. since they know that i'm working, i can say 'sup girl, you need a condom, or a smoke for later ;)" and they'll laugh.

one time this lady waved me over in the girls bathroom. i stayed put, because my set up was there, but told her to come into the boys. 'it's cool, there's a stall. ;)' she walks in and gloats all over about how cute i am in my bow tie. 'take a shot with us booooy' "bring it into the bathroom and i will..."

once a woman and her 3 pronged possie told me i look like a stripper...

"haha, thanks, so do you..."

"are you gay?"

"...ya know, as gay as i need to be to get a tip ;)"

they walk away.

"i knew it, he's suuuuuuuuch a faggit!"

i check my pack of lights. i've smoked half, goddamn it.

it's been pretty suprising how open i am about being queer at this job. on my second shift ever i was terrified. the bathroom was set up so that there was a whole nother room for stalls and urinals than the wash room. that meant as i said hello to people as they walked in, i also got a look at their back[side]. 6/10 times they said something about some faggot. i got worried. now though--maybe thanks to a bit of drink--it kind of just comes out of me. this guy came in one time, we struck up a conversation and i immediately knew he was queer. as we're chatting he avoids a phonecall.

"ugh...my boyfriend won't leave me alone!"

"oh yeah?" I ask, quite surprised he confirmed my suspection.

"yeah, he wants to go down town, but i don't wanna do the fag thing tonight. i just wanna chill here and get drunk."

"hell yeah dude, my experience with gay clubs hasn't been the best. are you alright at bars like this? no one really fucks with you or anything?"

"nah, i do fine...i'll be back with your g&t soon."

"see you then..."

the man from the previous post, who came out to me at the end of the night, avoids my gaze. i can usually get a head bob or wave from most of the people that recognize me, but not from him. i wonder if he worries about me outing him? the last time i was at that bar, it was country night. someone told me, "hey when i go to wash my hands i'll do it." this is a common response from people who seem to feel wierd about not tipping, or maybe just weird about someone helping them do such an easy task. the only thing is, people suck at it. i do it all night, for multiple people at once. i am so much faster than you could ever hope to be. i explain to this man that he'll just be slowing me down and make my job harder, but her persists.

"nah, i can do it man. i refuse to let you wash my hands. you're doing a job that i can do myself."

"i know you can do it...."

"nah, i can't let you do a job that i can do. if someone else is doing a job that you can do yourself, than they're doing a nigger's job."

"yo, fuck you. get the fuck out of my bathroom."

"what? i didn't say anything"

"i'm black."

"nah, you ain't dark enough...."

"look at me! fuck you, and GET OUT!"

"ah man, i didnt...i said nigga"

"no, you didn't...and even if you did, you can't say that, you're white."

"ah i'm sorry, i didn't mean to offend..."

"no one ever does..."

"...and i'm not racist i work with people of all races..."

"you may not be racist, but what you said is..."

"now get out of fuckin bathroom"

he reaches into his wallet after telling me he has no tips all night. four dollars suddenly appear.

he places it in the tip plate and apologizes once more as he leaves. i feel that i shouldn't take it, but i've made $11 tonight. i pack up my shit and leave. i hate white supremacy.

i wonder about having to affirm blackness for people to take their racism in my presence seriously. i'm of anglo saxan and cuban descent. there might be some black in there somewhere, and i ususally have positive racial conversations with other people of color. most start with the question "are you black?" some of have said i have a unique vantage ponit to fight racism, but i'm not sure if affirming an ethnicity that i'm unsure of is the right way to do it.

just oneuh them days, don't take it personal

I grunt as i carry my supplies to this musty bathroom. I cross the threshold and the stench of stale urine and cigarettes chokes me out. "Ughhhh..." I do my best to maintain balance as i dodge piss puddles. it's like i'm playing in aftermath of a rainstorm. my stomping grounds is a dank, terribly ventilated, stale bathroom resurrected back to life by a piss monsoon. tonight's gonna be great, i can feel it.

i'm not supposed to smoke in this bathroom, fuck. i must mask the smell. i have plenty of calogne, but that's like pouring perfume on a pig.

first guy comes in.

"how's it going dude?"

"it'll be going much better in a second."

...

"aaahhhh" i avert my eyes as he relives himself two feet from me. i grab for the soap, as he grabs for the flush handle. flushhh! a flash flood of urine careens over my shoes and sprints for the front door.

awesome. i'm standing in piss, working for shit and i'll have to remind drunks not to flush over and over and over and...

all night people are coming in saying "you work here?! you're better than this job!...this job must suck. etc."

i've learned to get used to the homophobia, because most of the time it is the way these guys flirt with each other. most of the time it is not really hateful, it's just the only way they can be sweet to each other.

"look at this faggot right here!" guy points to his friend and puts his arm around me.

"have you ever seen a bigger faggot, dude?"

"uhh--i don't uh- o_O..."

"this guy can take a mean dick!"

"fuck you, bitch i'll bend you over any day!" he responds with authority.

"haha, no really though me and him are gonna smash some bitches tonight!"

"fuck yeah dude, you look really good. this is gonna rule!"

"you look really good too!"

*bam*

in the half second of the last dialogue, their vocal tones, and body language changed. a tiny peak into the parts of their psyches that seemed to want to 'smash' each other. i take a deep drag on a cigarette and as i let the smoke slowly curly out of the bottom of my lip, i grin: i have an intimate secret.

the rest of my night goes terribly rough. i feel i spoke too soon about homophobia. younger guys are coming in and aggressively talking about how i have the worst job in the world, how they can hook me up at a mall kiosk selling beepers and i can kiss this bullshit job goodbye. they're all asserting themselves past my personal space, making it terribly difficult for me to offer soap and push calogne and cigarettes.

eventually, i crack. "yo, i don't give a fuck about your job, you're gonna have to move i can't do mine" "well fuck you then, faggot bitch!"

towards the end of the night i'm crushed. people have treated me like shit all night, i've made no money and i feel i'm so close to punching someone. i hope i don't go off on anyone. then, this big beefy dude comes in, i'm positive he works here, and i'm apprehensive because he gave me shit the night before.

"hey, how's it goin' dude, can i get a cigarette?"

"it's goin' man, pretty bad, you got it, what kind you want?"

he grabs a light and reads my face and body language. as i light up with him he begins...

"dude, don't let these guys get to you. they're shit. you're working, and you need to own that. these guys aren't doing anything but fucking themselves up."

"thanks, man, i know it's just hard." i struggle to let this guy in. since my first experience with him was tense, i'm not too keen to let my guard down, especially considering what is getting to me most is how homophobic all the patrons were. i know this guy is tryin to make me feel better, but he won't be able to make me feel better about that.

as if he knows he's not getting to me positively he repeats himself. "look, man, just know you're working. you've got a job, and that deserves respect. make sure you respect yourself for that, alright?"

"hell yeah, thanks a lot man, i really appreciate it. i've just had to take a lot of shit tonight, and i really feel like i could punch someone. i feel like sitting in the dark," i say desperately.

"you gotta not let em get to you," he responds, "man i'm a homo guy, you know how much shit i have to take at this job?!"

there it is. i light up, and i'm off. a ball of energy that cannot be stopped. "oh my god, dude, the homophobia in here is killing me! it's all these younger cats, man they're so fucking aggressive, and shit. this isn't guys being friendly between each other, most anyways--they're all trying to dominate this space and it makes me want to scream! fuck. i never thought i'd be able to safely talk to someone about this in a bar..."

he puts his right hand out, and i mine and we firmly shake. he drops a 20 in my tip jar. "keep your chin up, man."

first post.

I work in various college bar bathrooms for tips. I wear a tuxedo shirt, a bow tie, and slacks. I provide patrons with cigarettes, cigars, condoms, gum, calogne, hair gel, a hand towel and soap, and conversation. It is my job to sell myself to you. The moment we make eye contact, I've got a read on you. In the millisecond that you walk by, I must know whether it is better to give you a head nod, say 'whassup boss,' throw a hand out for a physical greeting etc. I work to make you comfortable that I'm watching you piss. Do you shit louder than the club sound system pumping out lil wayne mixed with the police? No worries, I gotchu. Have a smoke or a mint. Got knows i need both. I keep track of who is in what stall so that future customers don't walk in on you, and place myself in all the conversations you bullshit with your boys. If it feels right, I speak on the matter without invitation. Other times, patrons come to me. I have to make you feel more comfortable, make sure you leave the bathroom feeling good about yourself, good about your night, and that you have good chances with whoever you're eyeing on the dance floor. Essentially, it is my job to flirt with straight men.
~~~~~~

first night

As with any job, the first shift gives one a case of the butterflies, but this is a whole new level. As i watch people leave the stall, I struggle not to follow their energy. I'm looking at them eye to eye, they go for their zipper, so go my eyes...look up look up look up.

I give the patron a head nod and extend my arm for the towel. "Nah, boss. Mah dick's clean." "Alright, have a good night," I respond nervously. Prior to the shift I had my best pep talk about the job and being queer. "I have passing privilege," I say to myself, "make sure you don't give anyone the eye....."

As my night goes, most of my conversations, start out with the customers talking to me "you're new huh?" I nervously respond to every conversational piece. I am an intruder, an impostor. I am killing the bathroom vibe. I This is a dynamic i feel helpless to rectify.

Finally, a patron 'breaks the fourth wall' so to speak and puts his arm around me. "My maaaan," he says loosely and loudly "I've tippped you but have no more cash. Do you drink?" "Yeah, vodka cran," I say nervously. "No no no nooo," he responds, "I just tried this drink tequilla sunrise! It's awesome. It gives you a big big boner!" As he says this he wraps his left arm around his bent right making and shakes his fist ala a sumerisle native in the wickerman (1973). "I'll have that," i respond trying not to blush.