She's No Lady

I received a great new quote for the testimonials section from the wife of one of my buddies. After he told her the story of my urinal bump and the termination of my employment, she said, “I could not be married to Matt”.

Speak no Huevo, Hear no Huevo

Dear National Association of the Deaf,

Recently I lamented the fact that there is not a male version of the National Organization for Women. I joked about a National Association for Dudes, never imagining that a group would actually use the initials NAD. Just because you can’t hear, doesn’t mean you’re dumb. Why wouldn’t you rearrange your initials so that they didn’t spell a slang term for testicle?

Your ignorance reminded me of an article I read years ago in Sports Illustrated. It was about Mexican born Eurubiel Durazo, who was passed over by many scouts, but had a solid rookie season. The author said that scouts who ignored Durazo have “huevos on their faces”. He was trying to imply that scouts were embarrassed, but he should have checked with someone who actually knew Spanish rather than relying on his Spanish/English dictionary’s definition of “huevos”. It literally means “eggs”, but is slang for “testicles”.

Wow, that really wasn’t where I was going when I first decided to write to you. I should really put this entry over on Craig’s blog because he’s the wonder most likely to get distracted by testicles.

I have a much more serious reason for this letter. I recently lost my job and really need your help increasing the traffic on my website. I need to sexify my blog, making it easier on the eyes. I’m picturing each blog entry becoming a video with a hot deaf girl signing the words as they scroll down the screen closed captioning style. If she can read the blog in Spanish while signing that would be ideal. As far as you know, I have no experience renting hot Spanish speaking deaf girls by the hour. Do you have a catalogue or some type of brochure that details your rates?

Thanks,
Matt

P.S. If this works out, please make sure to send a female. Craig has been lurking around 2HW again and I’m a little worried that if a hot deaf Mexican dude joined the staff, someone would end up with huevos on their face.

I'm a Roll (sic) Model

Today, my son needed some alone time and closed the door to his room. By the time I went in to check on him he had stripped down to just his diaper. He was running from one side of the room to the other, squatting down in front of the fan until it got too cold. He’d then run to the other side of the room shivering while saying, “BRRR!!!!”

My first thought was that he’s taking my job loss a lot more seriously than me. It was as though he was getting himself ready for a long, cold winter without clothes or shelter.

After I watched him run back and forth several times, he came over to the chair I was sitting in and tried to lift up my shirt. I didn’t think much of it, because he often pulls up my shirt and stares in wonder at the many rolls that make up my belly. But, then it hit me… he was wanting me to join him for Clothing Optional Friday. Not even two years old and he’s already reading my blog! Now if I could just teach him how to click the little Google ads at the bottom of the page, he might not end up homeless and hungry.

Business Casual Wardrobe for sale on Craigslist

I just posted the following ad on Craiglist...

Subject: I just got fired…business casual wardrobe for sale

Remember that time a stranger bumped into me at the urinal in my office men’s room, forcing me to research urinal code and find that the urinals were in fact illegally too close together? Remember when I thought it would be funny to shoot a video reenacting that encounter and post it on youtube? Remember when HR didn’t think it was funny and fired me?

Yeah, that was great. So great in fact, that I now have absolutely no chance of ever working in corporate America again. In order to keep my kids from starving, I must now sell my entire business casual wardrobe.

Please email me with your bid on this lot: four pairs of 40x30 khaki Dockers, 8 double XL mock turtlenecks, 6 pairs of gently used argyle socks and the “Van Halen Kicks Ass” jersey I used to wear on casual Friday.

Matt
www.twohitwonder.com/matt

Link to the video that got me fired…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWWphdDbJqc

Day 3

Oh man, this is really getting serious. What am I supposed to do now? I woke up this morning and it really hit me hard…I have no idea what my version of Casual Friday is going to look like. If I’m wearing jeans every other weekday, what am I supposed to do to mix things up on Fridays?

I always wanted to go into the office without a shirt on Casual Friday. But, at home, that’s pretty much standard and therefore not funny. Clothing optional Friday might work, but I’ll probably wait till the wife and kids leave the house. It’s hard enough explaining to the kids why daddy is home all the time, but explaining why daddy is home and not wearing pants would be harder still.

Everyone’s a Bitch Friday was perfect for the Office, but I’m not sure I want my son calling me a Bitch when I turn off his favorite video, “Barbie: 12 Princesses”. At first I was a little concerned that he loved such a girly video, but after watching it 20 times since I got fired, I get it. Barbie is hot. 22 months old and the boy is already into women. We could be in trouble.
Gotta run. The wife and kids just left. I’m going to change into nothing but my moustache, kick back in my barcolounger and watch “The Price is Right”.

Day 2

This is wild. I really don’t have a job. I think I could get used to retirement…although, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are already getting old. I wonder how long we could make it if I start selling the kid’s toys on Ebay.

Speaking of which, my wife has yet to set up a firewall at home. I’m like an ex-Accountant in a candy store. I have none of the restrictions that used to drive me crazy at work. It’s great. I can get on Ebay, Fantasy Football sites, Poker sites, My Space…wait maybe a fat, unemployed thirty-something with a weird moustache shouldn’t admit to spending daytime hours on My Space.

While my wife has yet to try to restrict my idle web time, she is putting together an HR handbook for our home. She’s going to make damn sure that I am aware of all policies so that my ignorance does not get me into any more trouble.

Last week HR was telling me I wasn’t funny. This week it was my daughter. I told her that from now on, whenever anyone “tooted” we would blame it on the squirrels. She didn’t even crack a smile, but instead informed me that we should say, “Excuse me” after we toot, so that “everyone would know who did it”. I said, “Your idea is probably better, now pull my finger”. Maybe that’s why dad went to work while mom stayed home and taught the kids manners.

The Man stuck it to me today

I still maintain that work is for PHAGs, but I’m going to have to take a short break from posting in the Work’s for PHAGs section. I was fired today for conduct unbecoming of an accountant. I wasn’t given a specific reason for my dismissal, but I think this blog, specifically the Work’s for PHAGS section and video contributed to my demise.

That is all.

Update 10:00am…I’m wearing blue jeans and a ball cap…ON A WEDNESDAY!

To do:

Convince the kids that they can get by on 1 meal a day.

More 2HW Weddings

Yesterday, I summarized my weekend of wedding crashing. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn made it out to be. While I may not have had the opportunity to make out with a single Treasury Secretary’s daughter, it did make me think of another wedding crash involving Craig and me.

In college, I was one of a multitude of groomsman in my roommate Bryan’s wedding. I brought Craig with me to Arkansas even though he hadn’t been invited. He didn’t know Bryan very well and had never even met the bride. But, when one of the groomsman backed out at the last minute, Craig was asked to fill in.

In those days Craig was known as “The Fat Kid”, so he jumped at the chance to attend the rehearsal dinner featuring all-you-can-eat catfish. This was well before Craig decided to become a man of the cloth, so he predictably succumbed to gluttony.

The next day Craig was wishing it had been an “all-you-care-to-eat” catfish buffet instead of “all-you-can-eat”. After taking pictures in the hot sun, Craig was in pretty bad shape and a few short minutes before game time he was nowhere to be found. Everyone was scrambling to locate Craig as the groomsman began escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle.

But, just seconds before Craig’s date was about to walk down the aisle solo, we heard a mighty flush and turned to see Craig walk out of the men’s room with a relieved look on his face. His bridesmaid was not quite as chipper when Craig asked her to smell his thumb on the way down the aisle.

He continued to offend women in pretty dresses, later calling the bride Mary Beth instead of Sara Beth. Months later we learned that Sara Beth was not happy with the substitute groomsman’s antics on the wedding video. Apparently, Craig did not notice the cameraman behind him, who couldn’t help but get a shot of Craig grabbing another groomsman’s caboose.
The night ended appropriately, with Craig catching the garter belt. Eleven short years later Craig found his blushing bride. Thank God Craig didn’t meet her then, because she still had baby teeth and was on the junior high drill team.

After the wedding we went back to the house where we were staying. Before I get into that, I need to do a quick background story to set the scene. During our freshman year in college, Craig developed an ingenious underwear system. He only owned three pair and they happened to be very colorful bikini briefs. He would wear one pair into the shower, wash it and hang it up to dry. The next day he would wear the other pair and wash and dry it in the same manner. Pair number 3 was for emergencies only.

I’m not sure why he thought lounging on a stranger’s bed qualified as an emergency, but one of the tenants of the house unexpectedly came home a day early to find Craig laying in his bed wearing nothing but purple briefs. The Fat Kid in bikini underpants was not quite as attractive as the women Owen and Luke brought home in Wedding Crashers.

Weddings by 2HW

In the glory days of Two Hit Wonder, I tried to convince Craig that we needed to add weddings to the suite of services we offered. The wedding ceremonies I’ve attended often incorporate the same boring format that ends up lulling me into daydreams about whether or not there will be an open bar at the reception. I pictured 2HW breaking that mold.

Instead of reading the traditional bible verses, Craig and I would perform a Scripture rap. Instead of an overdramatic solo by someone with musical talent, I would belt out “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” while Craig strummed the only two guitar cords he knows. We’d spice up the tired old seating of the tired old grandparents with a little geriatric musical chairs. The charge/sermon would be in traditional 2HW “Letter to Hollywood” format. And we’d finish up by letting the happy couple light our moustaches instead of the unity candle.

But, Craig pretended not to get my vision and I quickly gave up on the dream. Fast forward a few months…Craig unexpectedly quit 2HW. He told me he thought we should start dating other wonders. But, soon I would learn the truth. He wanted to do weddings without me.

Last night he officiated his first wedding. No joke. While some couples choose a minister or justice of the peace to perform their ceremony, Craig’s cousin John and his bride decided that Craig’s experience as a financial analyst made him the ideal candidate to be a fake minister for a day. Instead of going to seminary, Craig spent $15 and was ordained by the First Church of the World Wide Web.

Although I don’t know John well enough to have been invited to the wedding, I knew I had to sneak in to witness Craig’s performance. He actually held up pretty well under the pressure. John and Janet did the smart thing and didn’t let Craig ad lib anything. He was instructed to read word-for-word what was written in his handbook. But, it’s what wasn’t written that caused the most trouble. They forgot Craig was a rookie, and really should have started his program with a simple, “You may be seated”. Instead, the audience was forced to stand throughout the entire ceremony.

I made it a goal to float out to Inebriation Island as quickly as possible and was sufficiently toasty by the time the best man started his toast. His first order of business was to thank Craig for performing the ceremony. Craig was sitting right next to me, so with all eyes on him, I drunkenly lifted my glass to toast, only to watch in horror as my fat, greasy fingers dumped my bourbon and coke all over our table. How nice of the uninvited guest to make a public spectacle of himself.

It could have been worse. I could have stood up and tried to do a toast of my own. I was thinking through it in my mind, but thankfully wasn’t able to quickly formulate a joke about the Priest trying to get in my pants. (Craig had come over to my house before the wedding because his suit pants were too tight. I offered up a pair of my pants, which he chose to wear even though they really didn’t match his suit coat.)

At one point in the evening, I snuck a dinner roll into my suit coat pocket. I spent the entire night waiting for the right moment to pull it out. Finally, everyone had left except Craig, his wife, the mother of the groom, her husband and me. The husband was eating a cookie. I piped up with something like, “You two really should be eating together” and handed MOG the roll from my pocket. To which she replied, “You are so freaking weird”. Again…nice job of blending in by the guy who crashed the wedding.

I further wore out my welcome with my excessive participation in the fish bowl that was set up for well wishers to offer congratulations to the happy couple. I think I wrote about 6 or 7, none of them appropriate. I know one was a Haiku, another quoted Sir Mixalot’s “Baby’s got Back”, and one talked about an aunt who was making me sick by dancing barefoot.
Let me preface the closing by saying that I’m the only living English major who routinely has to have literary symbolism explained to me, so there’s a very good chance I don’t understand the depth of meaning for the special music John and Janet chose…“Bittersweet Symphony” by the Verve. The only line I really know from the song goes like this,

“Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony, this life

Trying to make ends meet

You’re a slave to money then you die”

A fitting end to the happiest day of John, Janet and my lives.

You're an Eight Video

People without mental problems would have let this issue die a long time ago. Not me. Hope you enjoy the video…

You're an Eight Update 5

I’m tired of living in fear. I cringe every time the bathroom door opens while I’m standing at the urinal in my office restroom. But, I have a dream. A dream that one day little white accountants won’t have to hold hands with the other little white accountants while trying to tinkle. I have a dream. A dream that one day my office’s urinals will be 30 inches apart…with privacy partitions.

But, no one seems to care about my dreams. My lawyer had better things to do. The city plumbing code administrator may as well have told me “if you don’t like it, pee in the sink”. So, as a last resort, I turned to my office’s building manager and had this email exchange…

Building Manager,

I have a problem with how close together the urinals are in the men’s rooms in this building. The other day I had an uncomfortable experience, when another employee inadvertently (I assume) brushed up against me while we were standing next to each other at the urinals.

So, I researched urinal code and I have to tell you, it is a fascinating topic. I learned that current code requires 30 inches center to center with a privacy partition. I also learned that since this building was built in 1973 and the code was different back then, it’s not required that the building be brought up to current code, but it sure would be nice to have a reasonable amount of space to feel comfortable. Every time I go into the restroom, I’m worried that someone is going to bump into me again. Is there any way the urinal spacing could be improved?

Thanks,
Matt

His response implied that a restroom remodel would not be happening anytime soon.

This is getting ridiculous. But, where do I turn?

If it weren’t so pale, the NAACP would have my back. But, there’s no National Association for the Advancement of Norwegian People.

If I was born without a member, I wouldn’t have this problem, but at least I’d be eligible to be a member of the National Organization for Women. I searched for a National Association for Dudes, but there’s no such group. (At least it didn’t come up when I googled “NADS”).

Tom Bosley would tell me “don’t get mad, get GLAAD”. But, the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation wouldn’t help me because I like girls. Besides, they’re too busy fighting for George Michael’s right to continue smoking (dudes) in the boys’ room.

If I were a dying kid, I’d have the Make a Wish Foundation. But, nobody seems to care about the wishes of a 34 year-old fat, white guy.

Sane people would probably let the issue go at this point. But, sanity is overrated. I was going to wait to play the insanity card, because I had been holding out hope that my large cash settlement in this case would hinge on proving that getting bumped in the men’s room has made me crazy. I’ve since realized that there would be too many witnesses that could definitively say that my insanity was a pre-existing condition. At this point, I’ll take any help I can get. Dear Association of People with (Mental) Disabilities…

Craigslist Post: Man Seeking Candice Bergen

I just made the following post on Craigslist in the "Missed Connections" section...

Oh, sweet Candice, I hope you remember me. Last night I dreamt that you were a big fan of my blog and wanted to work with me. You offered me $50 an hour, but before we could get into the details of our work relationship, you turned into Susan Sarandon. I immediately thought of an offensive letter/blog entry that I wrote to Susan and her boy toy, Tim Robbins. So, I started running in the general direction of the Internet to take down that post, but awoke before the situation was resolved.

Susan/Candice...Please do the honorable thing and make good on our non-binding verbal agreement that currently resides somewhere in the twisted recesses of my subconscious. I could really use the money to help pay for the therapy I’m undergoing to find out why the women of my dreams are over 60.

Thanks,
Matt
www.twohitwonder.com/matt

CSI: Miami Blog

In my letter to David Caruso I made fun of his show, implying that the audience they’re trying to draw is older and less manly than the crowd that watches Monday Night Football. Tonight, I realized that I was wrong.

Does it get any manlier than a show that centers on a male model with cheek implants using his convertible to kill his rival? Throw in a model agency owner killing her partner by putting cyanide in her lipstick and suddenly ESPN has some serious competition for the attention of the 18-45 year old male.

Especially when you consider the addition of a hot new cast member. Heather Locklear proved to be a big boost to the ratings of “Melrose Place”. However, it’s her “Melrose Place” co-star Rob Estes who’s joining “CSI: Miami”. Rob was good on “Silk Stalkings”, but he was nothing short of incredible tonight.

I guess that’s only natural when you’re working with the best. In the opening scene, David “Horatio” Caruso displayed not only his brilliant acting skills, but also his phenomenal peripheral vision. He asked Frank if he “got anything” even though the angle Horatio was facing and the 15 feet between the two men could not have possibly allowed Horatio to see Frank coming. He also found time to take his sunglasses off and put them back on and deliver an overdramatic line to lead into the catchy “CSI: Miami” theme song.

Horatio continued to make it impossible to suspend disbelief a few minutes into the show, saying, “He was hit by a car and is currently dead”. At the 14:27 mark and the 24:27 mark, Horatio delivered his line with his back to the other actors in the scene. I’m not sure how other cast members can keep a straight face. In Caruso’s world, you ain’t acting if you ain’t distracting.
In the show’s 48th minute, I really got upset at the blatant stereotyping of the man who played the Accountant. He was heavy, balding and geeky looking. Even though I fit that stereotype to a t, it would be nice if just once my people could be played by someone as hunky as Rob Estes.

Letter to Ricky Williams

Dear Ricky Williams,

Remember that time you won the Heisman Trophy? Sorry that wasn’t a fair question. It was eight years and thousands of brain cells ago. But, take my word for it. You were the best college football player in 1998.

After college, you signed with Master P’s “No Limit Sports” agency, even though No Limit had never negotiated an NFL contract, let alone the contract of the #5 overall pick. The deal was so bad that you ended up making about $50 million dollars less than the #4 pick.

Most people would be a mess if one little signature cost them $50 million, but you’re doing great. You’re still playing football. Sure, it’s the Canadian Football League, but at least the drug tests are less frequent than in the NFL. In 2004 you did so well on NFL drug tests that you were encouraged to take a one-year leave of absence. You maximized your time off by enrolling in college. Several weeks later you were an expert in the ancient Indian art of holistic medicine. Along the way, you’ve done what many men only dream of…fathering five kids…with five baby’s mommas. And to top it all off, you’re a vegetarian and a certified yoga instructor.

One day, I hope to have a resume with half as many accomplishments. For now, I’m having trouble finding an agent willing to represent an Accountant who specializes in urinal code comedy writing. But, who better to rep me than Master P? Maybe R. Kelly, but I’ll take my chances with the agency that made you the man you are today. I was hoping that you could set up a meet and greet with No Limit and me, where we could pass the dutchie and plot out a strategy to ruin my life.

Thanks,
Matt

You're an Eight Update 4

After my lawyer washed his hands of me before returning to “real” work, I went back to the city Plumbing Code Administrator and had this exchange.

PCA,

I feel like Stan Cramer (editor’s note: Stan is a Kansas City local TV news legend who fights for consumer rights). I finally brought my tape measure to work and found that the distance between urinals in the men’s room on my floor is at most 25 inches (pictures below) rather than the required 30 inches. As it turns out, I have more space in which to take care of business than the poor saps on the other 9 floors. I measured each restroom in my building and all of the other urinals are a mere 24 inches apart (pictures unavailable due to my cameraman’s unwillingness to participate in my urinal tour). I also found that the distance between the center of the urinal and the wall should be 15 inches, but these johns came up a couple inches short (that’s what she said).

I’d like to exercise my right to have enough space to comfortably urinate without having a stranger rub up against me. What can be done to ensure that our building is brought up to code? Also, is there any type of witness protection program offered by the city? Because I don’t think “the Man” is going to be very happy with me tattling on him.

Thanks,
Anonymous





Matt,

Looks like you work in an old building. I see where a contractor has recently done some work but I can’t tell what…I am in Florida at code change hearings so I don’t have access to plans or files.

PCA

PCA,

I’m pretty sure the contractor work did not affect the restrooms. On the floors that I’ve seen, it looks like the only work done was adding conference rooms and offices.

I did some more research and my understanding is that whatever the urinal code was at the time the building was built would be the standard that the building would be held to until a “change of use” or “change of ownership”, which would require the building be brought up to the current code. Is that correct? If so, I believe the building used to be owned by my parent company, but my company split from them and took over the building in mid-May…which I would think would constitute a change of ownership. Let me know if I have my facts right.

Thanks,
Matt

Matt,

A change in use would require the building to be brought up to code. Ownership has no bearing on the matter. I had some research done for me while I was out of the office and it looks like the building was built in 1973. I don’t think there is anything that we can do about the situation. Typically the statue of limitations on building code items is two years. Sorry.

PCA

End email exchange.

Oh PCA…you have made a horrible mistake. And I’m not talking about your reference to a “statue” of limitations. You’ve brushed me aside. My lawyer brushed me aside. But, I will not idly stand by and let my side continue to be brushed by other men while standing at the urinal. I was violated and I will not rest until I’m vindicated.

Letter to David Caruso

Dear David Caruso,

You are amazing. Your bio says you’re 50, but your face looks as weathered as Bea Arthur’s. Your acting is brutally unrealistic. You over-dramatize every line of dialogue while looking downward or off in the distance. You’re constantly taking your sunglasses off and putting them back on…whether you’re inside or out. You open every scene standing at a weird angle with your hands on your hips.

You left NYPD Blue after one season when you incorrectly assumed that you were the hottest dude on the planet. Your film career tanked and yet here you are back in the spotlight…a bona fide international star. Your 100th episode just aired and CSI: Miami is the number one show in the world. How is that possible?

If CBS really thought you were the Sexiest Man Alive, they would not have put your little spin-off show on opposite Monday Night Football. To me, giving you a Monday night slot, was your network’s way of saying that you are, at best, the heir apparent to Dick Van Dyke’s “Diagnosis Murder” audience. CBS execs realize they won’t draw men away from MNF, and instead were looking for someone who could draw in old ladies. So they sent your pasty skinned red head to the city where old women go to die.

But, “Murder She Wrote with Better Technology” unexpectedly has drawn a worldwide audience…which is exactly what I’m trying to do with this blog. You’ve made me realize that I’ve wasted too much time writing about work and/or going Hollywood. All I need to do is talk about you. Effective immediately, I’m going to abandon all other categories in this blog and create the world’s greatest (and only) CSI: Miami blog.

Thanks,
Matt

Chili Husbandry

When I walked into the break room today, FB and her fun committee partner (henceforth known as fun beatch’s beatch or FBB) were hanging up a sign-up sheet for the upcoming chili cook-off. I came in mid-conversation, but could immediately tell they were both pissed about the lack of interest in the chili cook-off. I wish I had written down FBB’s quote. It was downright mean. Something about sending out nasty emails if “this doesn’t work”. She may as well have said, “If you don’t make chili with a smile on your face when we tell you to, we WILL start busting kneecaps.” I had to turn away to suppress my laughter.

After they left I took a look at the four names on the sheet. Suspiciously, they all were written with the same handwriting. The list included our director (who no doubt felt sorry for the FBs), the Golf of Mexico (who wouldn’t know fun if it hit him in the head with a four-iron), FBB and finally this beauty from FB herself…

Blankety Blank (husbon’s)

I assume she was signing herself up, but wanted everyone to know that her husband would be making the chili. But, you’ve got to be kidding me. “Husbon”? That’s how a second grader would spell “husband” if they were trying to sound it out.

I signed up “Jon Bon Jovi” and within 30 minutes it was whited out. A co-worker pointed out that I really should have written, “Jon Bon Jovi (wyf’s)”. The next day I signed up Fonzi to make some fun chili. A couple days later FB was overheard saying, “Someone signed up Jon Bon Jovi yesterday. Now Fonzi is on the list. I just don’t think that’s very funny”. I guess FB and I have a mutual disrespect for each other…I don’t think she’s very fun.

The Fun Committee Grammar Rodeo and Chili Cook-Off

The fun committee will not stop trying to ruin my life. Two weeks ago, the self-appointed queen of the fun committee (from here on I will refer to her as “Fun Beatch” or “FB”) bombarded me with three meeting makers in a five-minute span. Each required three-hour meeting gives FB and her cronies the right to impose their fun upon me during the October, November and December fun events. Giving 90 days notice of the exact time and place I’m expected to have fun against my will is a little much.

She continued overdoing the advanced notice last week with an email giving us almost four weeks to mentally prepare to decorate our hallways with Halloween themes. At the end of the week, our director will judge our decorating skills and give away fabulous prizes. Hallway decoration week will culminate with a chili cook-off, for which there will be three more prizes. FB concluded the email by saying, “Those who would like to compete must hurry and sign up as there are limited slots available.”

FB probably should have confirmed how many chili entrants there would be before committing to give away three prizes, because less than a week later she freaked out, sending an email that read, “The chili sign up sheet is looking very empty, is there no chili cook’s around? Their has to be some great chili cook’s in (Blank)’s group?” If you’re keeping score at home, that’s grammatical errors 5…chili “cook’s” 0.

You're an Eight Update 3

My saga to receive hush money from my company for my office’s urinal code non-compliance continues. Here is a follow up email exchange with my lawyer.

Lawyer,

I invested some of the company’s time on Friday to measure the urinals in the 10 men’s rooms in our building. I only have results for 9 out of the 10, because I’m really not allowed on the 10th floor. It’s for our executives. I gave it a good try, but the industrial size tape measure bulging out of my pocket must have aroused suspicion, because I was followed into the men’s room. I panicked and pump faked towards the urinals only to turn around, wash my hands and leave.

All that to say, I think you’re right about the code being different when the building was built, because the nine urinals that I measured were 24 inches apart. But, damnit, I feel it is my duty to fight on behalf of all men who dream of urinating without the threat of being touched by another man.

So, today I continued my research. The best I can tell, this building was built in 1973. Oddly enough, I can’t seem to find a website dedicated to historical urinal code. Perhaps that’s the future of Two Hit Wonder dot com. But, maybe finding out what the urinal code was in 1973 will be irrelevant.

This link says, “Older buildings are ‘grand-fathered’ as code is updated; that is an older building must abide by the applicable toilet codes at the time the build permit was issued.” However, it goes on to say, “‘change of use’ or ‘change of occupancy’ will trigger the need for a new building permit and compliance with current code”.

The building was formerly owned by our parent company, but we spun off from them this summer and we now own the building. If that constitutes a “change of occupancy” or “change of use” then compliance to the current code would be required.

Another requirement I found is that there should be 15 inches between the center of a urinal and any side wall or partition. Our buildings urinals are at least a couple inches too close to the walls as well.

I’d like to make this the defining case in the long history of urinal legislation. I’d like to see Atkinson and Urinal go together like Roe and Wade. Let me know if you think we have a case, otherwise please refer me to a another high-powered lawyer that specializes in pee-pee law. Maybe I should try that guy on the back of the phone book who’s a lawyer and a doctor.

Thanks,
Matt

**Evidently my lawyer was too busy with legitamate cases so I followed up the email above with this one…

Lawyer,

I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that my second lengthy email regarding the urinal issue moved me from your “mildly amusing” file to your “he’s on crack/quit bugging me” file. Let me know if I’m reading that right, because if there’s no money to be won, I’m going to go ahead and move forward with notifying the city to see if they’ll do anything. To paraphrase the Beastie Boys, “I’ve got to fight for my right to Potty”.

Thanks,
Matt

Matt,

Well, your second email is still in my in box. I have been traveling a lot so I am having a hard time getting to things. I am not expert in this type of law. I know you're not serious about this, but if you were, I'd recommend contacting an another attorney.

Who knows where you will get with the city.

Lawyer