Bathroom Confessional

I had an interesting conversation with a Spaniard at the urinal the other day.
Before we get into that, let's back up and talk about the fact that Spanish men talk to each other at the urinal.



In 'Murica, there are four basic rules when using a urinal in the men's room.
1) No eye contact. I don't want to look at another dude while I'm holding myself.
2) No conversation. I don't want to talk to another dude while I'm holding myself.
3) If you shake it more than twice, you're playing with it.
4) It don't matter how much you shake or dance, a couple drops always fall on your pants.

Several years ago, when I had just started my current job, I'm de-watering.
Keep in mind, there are four urinals in this bathroom and I'm at one of the middle ones.
Then, a Spanish coworker of mine comes and stands at the other middle urinal, all cozy.
We could've held hands and made eyes at each other.
He looks straight at me and says "What's up?"
I say "I'm taking a piss."
The conversation ended abruptly.
I was shocked that somebody would look at me and speak to me at the urinal, and he was offended that I didn't want to sword fight and chat at the same time.

So just before Christmas, the company had a cocktail, which I loathe. I'm the kind of guy that likes to go to work, do my part, clock out and get my check. If I socialize with coworkers, it's with a select few that I know aren't mind-numbingly boring. You know: the people that you see in the morning, and you say "how's it going?" and they say the have a stock answer for each day of the week. "Hump day!" on Wednesday, "Another day, another dollar" on Tuesday, "TGIF!" on Friday.
Where did I leave my cyanide pills?
I digress. Getting back to the cocktail, I like to go, have a beer, listen to the big fish make speeches about profits and motivation, and then skedaddle.
Other people finish up at the cocktail and then make plans to go on to a bar and see if they can end up with a searing hangover the next day.
So I went back to the office a little early to get my work done and go home to do things I really enjoy, like making voodoo dolls of the guy that sits near me and looks and talks just like Ned Flanders.
I clock out and go to the bathroom to prepare for my commute.
Once again, I'm standing at the urinal when another guy comes up beside me, and he's tanked from the free liquor at the cocktail.
Red eyes, messed up hair, shirt almost untucked, rosy cheeks - the classic signs of being ripped, but trying to play it off.
I know he speaks a little English and I know he's about to speak to me, so I try to control the conversation and limit it to small talk, but I failed miserably.

Me: "Hey, man"
Him: "HOW ARE YOU GOING?"
Me: "Where? To the bar? No, man, I'm going home."
Him: "NO! HOW ARE YOU GOING?"
Me: "No, dude, I'm not going to the bar."
Him: "NO! HOW ARE YOU GOING?"
Me: "Where?"
Him: "What?"
Me: "Do you mean 'How are you doing?'"
Him: "NO! HOW ARE YOU GOING?"
Me: "Good!, you?"
Him: "FINE, THANKS!"