The Power of Long Division by Robert Baker

    It was always the same. I'd enter a men's room in a public place and beeline for the stalls. Typically, they'd be empty; most men just piss at the urinals. If no one else was in the place, so would I. I can piss at a urinal in an empty restroom at the drop of a hat. I can stand back two feet and let 'er rip. It's actually a lot of fun. But if there are people there, trouble rears it ugly head. I become seized by a terror that clenches my urethra shut like a well oiled bear trap, rendering me completely unable to perform a very common and necessary bodily function.
    I'm not insecure about the size of my penis; I don't really care that other men have penises and are using them in a similar fashion at the neighboring urinals. There is just something about standing shoulder-to-shoulder with another guy and pissing next to him pissing. It's a familiarity and bizarre camaraderie I don't really want to share with others. Lke the ooky cookie or sloppy seconds. I just prefer a bit of privacy while I urinate. It's a personal, Zen time for me. I don't want anyone hoarding in on my urine chi.
    So, if the urinals were occupied, I would go for the stalls. If the stalls were occupied, I would just wait. Sometimes, it took a long while for me to get to piss. The problem compounded when I got to the age of public intoxication. The more you drink the more you piss, and the more you drink the more demanding the piss can get. We've all waited in those long lines at a concert where you go when you have an available spot, no questions asked; unless you have to take a crap, and let's face it: no one likes a public shit. That's something for at home; room to spread out, reading material to ease your mind.
    With my constant need to pee in the stalls, I was basically seen by everyone, especially bathroom attendants, as a serial public crapper. And when I would just pee, the guy who was waiting for the stall, straining not to crap his pants, would look at me like I took the last available handicapped parking spot in the city to go run a marathon.I had to begin to cover it up. I would find some way to incorporate tissue. Sometimes I would act really sad and hold my breath, just coming to the verge of tears, like I needed some private time that only a stall could provide. I'll tell you, no one wants to be near a grown man crying in a public bathroom. This was a great method until I lost a contact lens while rubbing my eyes to produce the tears. Other times I would pinch my nose closed like I had a nosebleed, but that only worked if the bathroom employed warm air hand dryers and had no paper towels at the sink. The third and most devious method I ever employed was a fake coke nose. I would go into a locked stall, try the handle more than once, groan and then wipe my nose and give a sharp inhale followed by a quick, agitated scan of the bathroom. This was truly a low point for me.
    Then one day at the movies, after watching Gladiator, I think, with several friends, I was freed. I was talking to a friend as we entered the bathroom and two empty urinals were upon us. We both went to them, shoulder to shoulder like all the fellows do. We stood, staring at the linoleum tiling in front of our noses. Then I noticed a profound change in him. At first I simply sensed a change come over him. I stealthily turned my gaze to his face. He was tense for a moment, then an odd, placid calm came over his face, his lips moved ever so slightly and then I heard his pee go down the drain. I was, of course, frozen like a statue with my penis in my hand. I had to know:
    "What are you doing?" I asked.
    "Peeing," I don't think he wanted to be bothered.
    "How?" I was desperate.
    "Long division," he replied. He spoke quickly and quietly, "it takes your mind off of it. Yu just go. The problem has got to be hard, though. Something you would normally need paper to do." He zipped up and went to wash his hands.
    "Long division," I muttered wondrously. He exited the bathroom, and I immediately retreated to the first open stall I could find. I knew, however, that he was onto something.
    I started trying it myself. I would go into a bathroom, hopefully not too crowded and do long division in my head and would typically pee. The key to it, as he advised me, is the difficulty of the problem. The first time I tried it, I forgot this element and when I had no problem dividing two thousand by twenty, I was forced to return to my stall ways. The best problems are very long numbers that end in four that you then divide by five or six. If you try to divide six thousand seven hundred fifty four by five, well, you'll be pissing like a champ in no time.

About the author:
ROBERT BAKER is from Memphis, TN, but lives in Los Angeles where he is an actor. He has appeared in OUT OF TIME with Denzel Washington and the Coen Brother's recent LADYKILLERS. He also has a recurring role this season on SIX FEET UNDER. His bathroom etiquette is currently flawless.