I find myself on an infrequent screen-break, doing exactly what comes naturally to a man of my advancing years: standing at urinial, staring at wall, minding my own business and avoiding the head-height grease stain on the wall left by manky persons unknown. I had remembered my urinal etiquette – drummed into me through years of tutelage and cold, hard experience - and occupied the end pissoir of the four available.
Alas, as I am about to find out, others in the same employ as myself have no such concept of urinal etiquette.
Another gentleman, also finding a pressing need to make water, enters the luxurious warmth of the second-best gentlemen's bathroom in the building, and, given a choice of three urinals, blatantly – and with malice aforethought – chose the one next to me.
Oh, had I chosen to go up to the executive lavs on the first-and-a-halfth floors, this son of England might have been spared his embarrassment.
Had I farted, I dare say he would have thrown all taboos to the four winds and made a comment, or even glanced my way in a manner banned in the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland since 1847.
Naturally, I was disgusted, and let my anger show in the only way I knew how.
I did absolutely nothing.
And having made my feelings on the matter absolutely clear, I made my excuses, adjusted my dress (oh-ho!), washed my hands carefully and deliberately, and fled.
That certainly told him.
GENTLEMEN: Learn your Toilet Etiquette. A life may depend on it.
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