New Fast Automatic Piss-holes
by Marco Astolfi.
“...I don't really understand why you unhinge the Herren and Damen nameplates from the toilet doors during the parties. What does it mean? That here at the Gluckhaus you just need to hide the labels to eliminate gender differences? I find it absolutely useless! Once you're in, there you have it again, the same old opposition: male and female. Architecture speaks! Urinal are and will always remain male objects, for the simple reason that they can be used only by men. Have you ever seen a standing girl piss? I haven’t yet: if she’d try, she would just produce puddles between her legs, while a boy, thanks to his organ, can project in the space a stream whose vector doesn't simply consist of the vertical component...”
“Who’s this guy?” I ask Clemenza “He’s Florian, Santa’s boyfriend. He's here for the PHD” she whispers to my ear while we approach with the glass in our hand. “Do we really have to talk to him?” “Don’t worry, he'll speak for the three of us. You just have to listen” “I wouldn't meet him if I could” “Oh come on, they say he’s cool! He's worked for Coop Himmelb(l)au and Eisenman Associates; his essay on the architecture of public toilets has been published by Domus!” I don't reply but my face says “So fucking what!”
“... then why don’t we get rid of every kind of inner partition? Maximum visibility is the new keyword! My Total Lavatory for Young Male Students is a pure volume. No useless obstacles! A smooth space entirely lined with mirrors: just a draining channel on the floor, a blue neon frame along the ceiling perimeter and a slot that lets flow a continuous film of liquid disinfectant at about a third of the height. (Just figure the optical effects caused by the deforming reflections!) Of course the female version of the Total Lavatory will be completely different in order to fit the conformation of the feminine excretory apparatus...”
Pale, with hardly visible moustache, a swallow nest shaped mass of black hair over a white and high forehead, this Florian wears only a pair of bleached jeans, cut under the groin, a leather pouch for his yard tools, and once blue canvas sneakers, dirty with dried grout, over a pair of mid calf socks of the whitest sponge I've ever seen.
“... but of course the most advanced proposal in the field is the piss-hole, because it resolves once and for all the longstanding issue of the golden dew that we all penis-holders deposit on the tiles every time we urinate. The first automatic piss-holes were based on the duration of a standard leak, calculated with statistical methods and spot checks. A team of white gowned technicians was instructed to investigate the behaviour of the individual at the public toilets. This sounds a little too Kinsey, doesn't it? I mean, would you still be able to piss if a bunch of guys with tables, chronometers and questionnaires were watching you from a very close distance? Anyway, the result of their analysis was a handbook titled Parameters of the Average Man at the Urinal, which served as a starting point for project phase...”
People listen to him in ecstasy and laugh hysterically to show that they understand his wit. Santa, blinks her green eyes under kajal weighted eyelids and nods to every word he says, then she looks around in search of approval: it seems that she's saying “He's so cool, isn't he? And I am his girlfriend!" Every now and then there’s a little applause burst.
“...the first piss-holes prototypes were introduced in some great factories as a concession of the enlightened manufacturers to their workmen. Taylor ruled not only on the assembly line but also in the toilets: cut down the wastes of time to obtain top results. But the holes were all positioned at the same height, so that some workers were forced to piss on tiptoe and others with bended knees. Plus, the diameters were all of the same size! (Pause) Got it? And, even worse, every hole had a guillotine-like closure that locked for sterilization after a lapse: the duration of the standard leak mentioned before. This caused many unpleasant accidents during the adjustment period. After the first cases of castration the workers took the habit to pull outside their willy while it was still dripping or to urinate directly on the floor...”
He seems a cross(breed) of an Aubrey Beardsley drawing and the transvestite that carried on with the murderer's son in Deep Red. He also betrays a hint of make-up and retouched eyebrows. I bet he hides a silk dressing gown with peacocks in one of his drawers.
“...that's why I am currently working on the New Fast Automatic Piss-holes, the urinals for the post industrial era: height is adjustable and the calibre fits to your instrument like a glove thanks to its inflatable air-cushion made of skin-like material. You don’t even have to think about it, because the machine does the whole job for you: it's just a question of pressure! You insert your pump and you drain off your tank while the digital display tells you the amount of litres you deposited. The opposite of a petrol station. And it should feel like a mouth gently sucking the piss out of you to the last drop. Needless to say, the final shake is automatic too. We just have to wait for the pocket version, wearable under the clothes and inspired to the recycling of physiological liquids...
"Look!, screams Santa, they are projecting your video!" and she points at the luminous rectangle on the rough concrete wall. We all turn to watch. Countdown. Three. Two. One. Disappearing circles in counter-clockwise sense. No soundtrack. Still shot of two contiguous doors. Each of them has a frame fixed with two screws. Close-up of the left door: the stylized profile of a gentleman, in cylinder, stick and fin de siecle clothes, leaves his frame and reappears in the other one on the right. Without further ado he grabs the bidimensional lady, rises her skirt and takes advantage of her from behind. Fade out on the anatomic details. FIN!
We all clap our hands. I and Clemenza approach the man to pay our compliments. "Florian Pfaffgen" he introduces himself crushing my hand, "Architect" adds after a theatrical pause and then he gives me a metallic business card that he has extracted from his leather pouch. Then he starts to speak to nobody in particular, resuming his speech from where he had stopped: “...what about the opposite of a pure hole on a continuous smooth surface? Down with Less is more!, and get ready for the baroque triumph of swells and cavities: smart hygienic devices, water closets that change and grow, crossed not only with saunas and jaccuzi, but also with alchemic alembics and Murano chandeliers. Hypertrophic apparatuses with tentacles and trunks that embrace you and wrap you completely and then spray your own piss on your face like an aerosol, chemically processed and transformed into perfumed essences...”
“Let’s get something else to drink!” I say to Clemenza, grabbing her arm.
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