The No-Fly Zone

Gracing the wall of every restaurant bathroom is the sign: “Employees must wash hands before returning to work”. I applaud this notion, and I assume all personnel follow it. However, I cannot claim it to be a rule I, as an everyday citizen, always follow.

I am an “over-the-fence” guy. I unleash both the frank and the beans by lowering the elastic waistband of my underwear to a comfortable level. When executed properly and in the correct scenario, unit-to-hand contact is avoided. I have never understood snaking your junk around harshly angled cotton only to pass through a set of metal teeth. It is uncomfortable, restricts flow, and only serves to expose you to twisted balls. I will spend the extra 30 minutes per year to undo the button of my pants and jump the hedge. This technique renders hand washing unnecessary.

In certain situations, such as while wearing slacks, which yield tighter fits and thus less room to maneuver, assistance from a hand will be necessary. I actually approach this situation differently, and wash my hands before urination. I prefer having clean hands touching my johnson (The Dude: “Johnson?”). A one-handed cup of the balls, coupled with a quick bend and resulting upward thrust from the knees will produce a fluid motion for proper floppage and expose the package. I figure a pre-cleaning of the hands, in addition to a clean scrotum, will make the post-micturition hand-cleansing a necessity only in the presence of someone you know.

I understand not adhering to the spirit of the bathroom sign may leave me with an eternity of fist bumps, but at least I will be satisfied knowing that the chef jerking off in the soup has clean hands.