The following is a short skit I wrote for my playwright class. Enjoy!

SCIENCE

(Lights. A public bathroom. There are seven urinals against the wall. NARRATOR stands on the corner of the stage; he wears a suit. When men enter the restroom, their movements and talking freeze as the NARRATOR speaks.)

NARRATOR: The Three P’s of Pissing. There are three instincts every man of good character must possess inside an office washroom: Position, Poise, & Posture. Here, you will find seven urinals—ladies and gentlemen—and three washing stations. We are at Brodducks & Sons Insurance Agency, corner of Park & Granger. Ahh! Yes. Our first specimen joins us. Barry, 32, man of one wife and infant child.

(BARRY enters. He stops and surveys his urinal choices.)

Ahh. All to himself. What shall he ever choose?

(BARRY selects the first urinal in the row.)

NARRATOR: How expected. How common. That’s what we get with Barry, isn’t. Yes. That’s what we expect. Notice, if I may point out, ladies and gentlemen, Barry’s posture. He’s slumping, relaxing in his own world. No poise to speak of, no. Can you blame the man? No one else around. Go ahead, Barry. Take a load off. The first urinal in the row is always chosen by men outside the pack. Familiarity. What anthropologists call “comfortable.”

(OLD BILL BAILEY enters. He stops and surveys his urinal choices.)

NARRATOR: Here we go! Let’s see what Old Bill Bailey will choose. Ladies and Gentlemen. This is where the show begins. The second male in a washroom has the worst fate; his choice claims everything. The third and fourth male don’t matter; their urinal selections are consequential to space. But Old Bill Bailey, he can choose whatever he wants, but be careful! Ladies and Gentlemen. To choose the farthest urinal—on the other side of the room—most certainly, no man of good conscious could. And Old Bill Bailey is a man of good conscious. See, choosing the farthest urinal—on the other side of the room—suggests one of two things: 

One) Old Bill Bailey is what the boys call “Chicken Shit,” a coward. He’s afraid and has no intention of exuding confidence in the slightest; therefore, he gives the room to Barry immediately. How weak.

Two) Old Bill Bailey doesn’t respect Barry’s space, and is therefor making a move.

The office is cutthroat. Ladies and Gentlemen. Men conquer, kill, and seize. For promotions… for the last dirty donut in the break room… even half a maple-bar! But any man of good nature mustn’t be forthright with his intentions. Not in the office, no. The restroom, neither. Space is everything. Personal space. “Why is he so close to me?” “What is he after, any how?“ “You wanna save the water & just share the tub?” Ladies and gentlemen. A man of good confidence needs his space.

 (OLD BILL BAILEY selects the middle urinal. BARRY sees him and straightens his posture.)

NARRATOR: Did you see that? Barry, no longer in a world of his own, no longer in some cranial private-getaway, straightens-his-posture. Ha! In good conscious, too. The next movement will prove poise. Ladies and Gentlemen. Who speaks first? Ohhhh. This is where it gets good, doesn’t it? Surely they know each other. Badducks & Sons Insurance Agency, on the corner of Park and Granger, only employ eighteen individuals not counting the interns. The one who speaks first exudes confidence, the confidence of the alpha-male. The alpha-male of the urine-ale.

OLD BILL BAILEY: Say, Barry, you catch the game last night?

NARRATOR: We have a winner.

BARRY: I caught your mother last night.

NARRATOR: Any gentleman of good character wouldn’t—

OLD BILL BAILEY: In your dreams, pal. That witch’s been dead for years.

NARRATOR: Not what I expected.

(Both men zip-up and walk to the hand-washing stations, the middle sink is unused.)

BARRY: How are the kids?

OLD BILL BAILEY: Grandkids, you mean?

BARRY: Yeah. The grandkids.

OLD BILL BAILEY: Charlie is 8. I can’t believe it, either. Maddie is 4 and cute as a button. The cutest years.

BARRY: You mean they’re not teenagers.

OLD BILL BAILEY: I suppose so, yes.

(JACK FARAWAY enters. The men stop talking and watch him select the middle urinal.)

BARRY: Hey Jack! How’re the premiums coming?

JACK FARAWAY: I’m pissin’ over ‘ere. Can’t a man get a little piece and quiet when hez pissin’?

OLD BILL BAILEY: Now, now. Jack. We’re leaving. We’re leaving.

JACK FARAWAY: Thank the Lord.

BARRY: We’ll see ya out there, Jackie.

JACK FARAWAY: Piece and quiet, s’all I ask.

(BARRY and OLD BILL BAILEY begin to exit, but last minute run towards JACK FARAWAY and throw him to the ground. They begin to kick him mercilessly.)

NARRATOR: Ladies and gentlemen. I do apologize. I was promised men of good character. Perhaps… perhaps Monday is not the best choice for a study such as ours.