Depending on the time of day and day of the month you can see and participate in almost anything at the public library washroom.

Today is no exception. Today I walk into the bathroom to relieve myself. A 20-something man stands at the urinal, pants and underwear down to his ankles. He’s a foot away from the urinal. At least. He’s midstream as I enter. A normal person would have ignored me entering the room. But then again a normal person wouldn’t be all-but-naked peeing from that far away, a normal person may not even be in this godforsaken washroom. Of all the urinals I could find in Langley I find this one. Or it finds me.

He smiles at me like we’re old pals. Like I haven’t seen him in a lifetime. And I haven’t. Not this one anyway.

He takes one hand off his member to wave excitedly at me. I nod my head in agreement. Like this is just how it is. For him it likely is.

He lets out an excited “hiiiii!”

I cough, awkwardly, “hi.” I respond. Why? No idea. I wish I hadn’t. Of all the dumbshit in my life I could build a time machine for I choose this and this alone.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me while he’s peeing. He watches me as I cautiously approach another urinal. As far from him as I can. The stalls are in use and the room smells like things have died in there and haven’t been found in a long time and maybe they died by the heater and have been slow roasting for a month or so.

I can feel his eyes on me as I prepare to urinate. You may not believe this but there wasn’t a single god damned drop of piss on the floor. I checked as I walked to the urinal. This is what I consider as I get myself ready.

As I’m doing my thing I glance toward the mirror and he’s looking at me. It’s his turn to be confused now. He must be wondering why in hell I’m standing so near the urinal, why my pants aren’t all the way down, why I’m not waving excitedly and making small talk.

I go to wash my hands and he bends all the way over mid sentence: “nice day out today!”

Uncertain if he’s saying it to me or into the void I respond anyway, perhaps also into the void: “Sure is.”

I realize the timing of my comment and sing in my head the fastest ABC’s I can for hand-washing. It counts. No matter what I tell my kids, it counts here at the very least. It counts where it must.

He smiles at me and walks out into the wide world. He’s set off on some adventure, no doubt, and he’s leaving his mark wherever he travels. He’s leaving his mark in tiny little microorganisms and bacterial monsters that we can’t see but are all around us. We touch them when we least expect it, we breath them in when we don’t even know they’re there. On a cellular level I realize I’m already in hell, we all are.

I laugh. My hand washing is futile. A toilet flushes. I walk away quickly so nobody sees who was talking to the shining moon miracle man who didn’t spill any pee.

I leave with the same awkward smile I saw on the guy who was leaving when I entered. Everything makes sense. Embrace the victories, no matter how small.