BITCHfest: Ten Years of Cultural Criticism from the Pages of Bitch Magazine by Unknown Page B

Mary—the first popular documentation of a milk-squirting woman. Arc of transcendence, indeed—you don’t see any streams of urine headed toward the mouth of God.
    Yet this logic clearly never occurred to Paglia, committed as she is to male superiority. Witness: “The cumbersome, solipsistic character of female physiology is tediously evident at sports events and rock concerts, where fifty women wait in line for admission to the sequestered cells of the toilet. Meanwhile, their male friends zip in and out (in every sense) and stand around looking at their watches and rolling their eyes.”
    One must wonder: Has this woman never heard of the concept of “potty parity”? It’s not that women take that long to pee, though I have stood in line behind some of the slowest—but one must factor in many other variables. Society has urged women to conceal and restrain their physiques in layers of strange undergarments, hose, girdles, etc., which are as difficult to remove as they are to reassemble. Who says that women don’t have to concentrate and extend the mind to spatial analysis in order to pee? Also, most women actually wash their hands, even though they don’t have to manually direct and position any flesh in order to accomplish the great feat of urination.
    On to the matter of toilet type—let’s uncover the great mystery of the men’s room. Men’s rooms typically have two types of urine-receiving vessels: the traditional toilet that you find in your own home, and the urinal, a freestanding porcelain hole in the wall. Some men’s rooms expand on the urinal idea to the trough, which, true to its name, can accommodate several excreting fellows shoulder to shoulder. One trough may be the equivalent of ten to twelve traditional toilets. Zip, flip, whiz, shake, tuck, zip, and you’re outta there. Superiority based on biology or superior bathroom planning? You make the call.
    Of course, the man’s ability to zip and flip, coupled with the indiscreet placement of urinals and troughs and rampant societal homophobia, makes the male of the species subject to a much more touchy issue: urinal etiquette. I have been informed by those in the know that talking is out, glancing is out, looking down is out, meticulous shaking is out, bumping is out; in fact, any kind of personal contact or comment is out of the question. Peeing on the cake, however, is accepted and perhaps lauded as an accomplishment—however, since this involves looking down, better do it only when alone or with close friends. Brag about it later. Paying too much attention to your penis or anyone else’s while in the bathroom is a sure sign of deviance. Is this the concentration to which Paglia so enviously refers?
    While men are ushered into the realm of the public pissoir at young and tender ages (but not too young, because they will look and they will comment: “Yours is so big!” a friend’s young nephew was reported to exclaim to a man at a urinal in a public restroom), women are cloistered off into those sequestered cells to do our business discreetly and quietly, with a minimum of muss and fuss. We wait our turn in line for entrance into one of those private cubicles, and upon gaining admittance, turn and lock the door behind us, shutting out all those who would dare to enter and intrude upon our most private moments. Within the stall lies the toilet, the toilet paper dispenser, a hook for hanging loose articles, and another small box, the cell within the cell, for the disposal of that most private of items, the “sanitary” napkin and/or tampon. Bathroom etiquette consists of waiting your turn respectfully, not splashing on the seat, and not taking too much time in the stall. But ah, the freedom that one enjoys in the sweet privacy of the claustrophobic retreat: One’s eyes can wander freely, one can smile, chat with one’s friends waiting in line, and why, one can even touch oneself without feeling too transgressive.
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