The Urbanity of Public Urination
Occasionally I see something that causes me to pause and reflect on the wonder of what makes us human. And in those moments I am struck by the differences between humans and non-humans.
Take, for example, this gentleman I observed downtown today. Let's call him Uri. Uri was walking, bipedally, with a woman friend through the Gateway Center, a sort of plaza between a set of skyscrapers that fill a significant portion of Pittsburgh's skyline. The plaza area comprises concrete walkways, some grassy shapes, park benches and manicured bushes. Here people can smoke, take a stroll, smoke, eat their lunch, smoke, look at pigeons, smoke, etc.
Uri and his friend — let's call her Mandy, after the Barry Manilow song — were strolling casually, seemingly in no particular hurry to get anywhere, and having a conversation. I happened to glance at them as Uri separated from Mandy and walked into the waist-high bushes. Mandy paused at the edge of the bushes to wait for Uri, continuing their conversation.
There in the bushes, Uri proceeded to unzip his pants, using his uniquely human opposable thumb, and to subsequently urinate into the bushes in which he was standing. He continued to talk to Mandy, never breaking eye contact with her. She nodded and acknowledged what he was saying, looking right at him, the sound of Uri's whiz splashing into the bushes and on the ground at his feet.
Note that I was being surreptitious in my observation of this, so as not to appear creepy. After all, relieving oneself of the pressure of urine in one's bladder, no matter how publicly it is executed, is still a private affair.
As Uri finished his little public piss-fest, I again averted my eyes. I then passed Uri and Mandy completely, taking one last cursory glance to see Uri zip up and reverse his way out of the bushes he had just marked as his own.
I know what you must be thinking. Why am I bothering to describe something so mundane? I mean, surely I could have chosen something far more significant and noteworthy to talk about. But think about it. Ponder the wonder of what I've just described. There is so much to observe about this otherwise incidental event that not only separates human from animal, but demonstrates the sublime beauty of what it means to be human.
For instance, Uri could have just started to wet himself while walking, soaking his pants with pee. But he didn't. He clearly had the sensibility and foresight to know that urine-soaked pants become all gross and smelly as the day progresses, and that he could very likely offend the olfactory faculties of those around him. Rather, he went to the trouble of unzipping his pants and urinating in a manner that mitigated the possibility of grossness and smelliness. Think for a second: Do animals take such care to avoid the smell of urine on themselves? Certainly not. They seem rather to like it!
Furthermore, consider that Uri went out of his way to find a place out of the way of pedestrian traffic at which to void his bladder, obviously concerned that others would not have to trod through his steaming puddle of piss. Ask yourself: Do animals ever concern themselves with such details? Surely they do not. In fact, they seem to go out of their way to step in each other's urine!
Note also that Uri obviously had to plan his actions while not missing a beat in the conversation with Mandy. That takes some serious multi-tasking skills. Consider for a moment: Have you ever seen an animal continue a conversation while simultaneously scoping out possible piss targets, let alone conversing while fully engaged in the act of urinating? Of course, the answer is no. The animal world, what with their tiny unevolved craniums, are clearly not capable of such high-level brain function.
Say what you will about the remarkable social intricacy of honeybee colonies; say what you will about the arcane complexity of group behavior among chimpanzees; say what you will about the mysteriously sophisticated level of communication among dolphins. They all still piss everywhere and anywhere. Some of them even throw their poop, and without opposable thumbs. Nothing in the animal realm comes even close to demonstrating the level of urbane refinement we see so plainly in the societal sensibilities of human beings. Truly, the humans set the bar as the quintessential examples of savoir faire in civilized society. And they mostly don't throw their poop. Mostly.
Occasionally I see something that causes me to pause and reflect on the wonder of what makes us human. And in those moments I am struck by the differences between humans and non-humans.
Take, for example, this gentleman I observed downtown today. Let's call him Uri. Uri was walking, bipedally, with a woman friend through the Gateway Center, a sort of plaza between a set of skyscrapers that fill a significant portion of Pittsburgh's skyline. The plaza area comprises concrete walkways, some grassy shapes, park benches and manicured bushes. Here people can smoke, take a stroll, smoke, eat their lunch, smoke, look at pigeons, smoke, etc.
Uri and his friend — let's call her Mandy, after the Barry Manilow song — were strolling casually, seemingly in no particular hurry to get anywhere, and having a conversation. I happened to glance at them as Uri separated from Mandy and walked into the waist-high bushes. Mandy paused at the edge of the bushes to wait for Uri, continuing their conversation.
There in the bushes, Uri proceeded to unzip his pants, using his uniquely human opposable thumb, and to subsequently urinate into the bushes in which he was standing. He continued to talk to Mandy, never breaking eye contact with her. She nodded and acknowledged what he was saying, looking right at him, the sound of Uri's whiz splashing into the bushes and on the ground at his feet.
Note that I was being surreptitious in my observation of this, so as not to appear creepy. After all, relieving oneself of the pressure of urine in one's bladder, no matter how publicly it is executed, is still a private affair.
As Uri finished his little public piss-fest, I again averted my eyes. I then passed Uri and Mandy completely, taking one last cursory glance to see Uri zip up and reverse his way out of the bushes he had just marked as his own.
I know what you must be thinking. Why am I bothering to describe something so mundane? I mean, surely I could have chosen something far more significant and noteworthy to talk about. But think about it. Ponder the wonder of what I've just described. There is so much to observe about this otherwise incidental event that not only separates human from animal, but demonstrates the sublime beauty of what it means to be human.
For instance, Uri could have just started to wet himself while walking, soaking his pants with pee. But he didn't. He clearly had the sensibility and foresight to know that urine-soaked pants become all gross and smelly as the day progresses, and that he could very likely offend the olfactory faculties of those around him. Rather, he went to the trouble of unzipping his pants and urinating in a manner that mitigated the possibility of grossness and smelliness. Think for a second: Do animals take such care to avoid the smell of urine on themselves? Certainly not. They seem rather to like it!
Furthermore, consider that Uri went out of his way to find a place out of the way of pedestrian traffic at which to void his bladder, obviously concerned that others would not have to trod through his steaming puddle of piss. Ask yourself: Do animals ever concern themselves with such details? Surely they do not. In fact, they seem to go out of their way to step in each other's urine!
Note also that Uri obviously had to plan his actions while not missing a beat in the conversation with Mandy. That takes some serious multi-tasking skills. Consider for a moment: Have you ever seen an animal continue a conversation while simultaneously scoping out possible piss targets, let alone conversing while fully engaged in the act of urinating? Of course, the answer is no. The animal world, what with their tiny unevolved craniums, are clearly not capable of such high-level brain function.
Say what you will about the remarkable social intricacy of honeybee colonies; say what you will about the arcane complexity of group behavior among chimpanzees; say what you will about the mysteriously sophisticated level of communication among dolphins. They all still piss everywhere and anywhere. Some of them even throw their poop, and without opposable thumbs. Nothing in the animal realm comes even close to demonstrating the level of urbane refinement we see so plainly in the societal sensibilities of human beings. Truly, the humans set the bar as the quintessential examples of savoir faire in civilized society. And they mostly don't throw their poop. Mostly.
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