Schmuckumentary

It was late. You know that hour where everything’s quiet and finally empty. Monitors dark, chairs pushed in. You could tell by how loud your own footsteps sounded.

I headed out, timing my walk so I could get to the car at exactly 7:30. I just needed to pee. Blame the coffee I grabbed that afternoon to stay awake for the drive.

I walked into the bathroom and he was already there, doing his business.

Fine. Standard. We were all adults.

I took my place at the urinal. The usual.

Behind me, he finished first.

There was that split second where everything should just… end.

But no.

He started shaking.

And not just a casual, wrap-it-up shake. I mean, aggressive. Committed.

Just flapping.
And flapping.
And flapping.

It was loud. Echoing. A barrage of Cherie Gil slaps. And for a moment, I genuinely thought: that sounded… huge.

I paused.

I didn’t turn back, obviously. But now I was listening. Which was somehow worse.

And it. Just. Kept. Going.

Okay, sure. Be thorough. Maybe he was wearing khaki.

But then it went on longer than it needed to. Long enough that I started wondering what exactly he was trying to accomplish.

Like… how much was even left?

At some point, it started to feel like he was trying to win a competition I didn’t sign up for.

He kept at it. Same energy. No hesitation.

Fully locked in.

Finally, he stopped. Like a conductor dropping his baton. Just… ended it.

Zipped up like nothing happened.

Left.

He didn’t even wash his hands.

And I was left there alone, mid-stream.

We do this, don’t we.

Stay a little longer. Push a little more. Try to squeeze the last drop out of a moment that’s already given what it had.

I chuckled as I finished up.

Maybe it’s okay to just be done when you’re done.

Not everything needs that extra shake.