The Spits: Hey man, that was my shoe
Buddy J. Thompson
Issue date: 11/11/09 Section: Opinion
There has been a question burning on my mind for years. And now I finally have a medium that enables me to ask it.
Let me preface this by saying it was never promised that this column would hone in on greatly consequential social dilemmas, groundbreaking analyses of economic events, or life-changing insights into the yearnings of your soul.
This is mostly because, being a bit of a procrastinator (that's right, I admitted it), I do not give myself enough time to write insightfully, analytically, or, um, consequentially. No, my question is a simple one, but one that we witness in our everyday lives and one that I refuse to believe I am the only one to have asked. Why do so many men spit?
Come out of the grocery store, spit. Come out of school, spit. Come out of the house, spit. Get out of the car, spit. Step out of the elevator, spit. Hey man, that was my shoe. And the one that baffles me the most: step up to the urinal, begin one's business, and, during said business, spit. This last spit, I hope, is a very carefully calculated one.
What is it that motivates these saliva sacrifices? Is it something biological? Is it conditioned? I mean, growing up, I was conditioned to open the door for women (especially Grandma), to get it in the bowl and to not adjust myself in public. Of course, as I have gotten older, opening the door has become automatic, my aim has improved and I've learned that sometimes adjustments just have to be made. Apparently, somewhere between peeing standing up and not crying in front of others, I missed the man-tutorial called 'Getting the Spits 101.' I refuse to believe this is simply because I'm gay. There is, after all, the rare gay spitter. Besides, there is no box to check when signing up for man-tutorials: they're sort of compulsory.
I can also attest that the spits are not a Midwest invention. My time in California revealed as many spit-shooters as here at home. The only noticeable difference was spitting from the skateboard.
Let me preface this by saying it was never promised that this column would hone in on greatly consequential social dilemmas, groundbreaking analyses of economic events, or life-changing insights into the yearnings of your soul.
This is mostly because, being a bit of a procrastinator (that's right, I admitted it), I do not give myself enough time to write insightfully, analytically, or, um, consequentially. No, my question is a simple one, but one that we witness in our everyday lives and one that I refuse to believe I am the only one to have asked. Why do so many men spit?
Come out of the grocery store, spit. Come out of school, spit. Come out of the house, spit. Get out of the car, spit. Step out of the elevator, spit. Hey man, that was my shoe. And the one that baffles me the most: step up to the urinal, begin one's business, and, during said business, spit. This last spit, I hope, is a very carefully calculated one.
What is it that motivates these saliva sacrifices? Is it something biological? Is it conditioned? I mean, growing up, I was conditioned to open the door for women (especially Grandma), to get it in the bowl and to not adjust myself in public. Of course, as I have gotten older, opening the door has become automatic, my aim has improved and I've learned that sometimes adjustments just have to be made. Apparently, somewhere between peeing standing up and not crying in front of others, I missed the man-tutorial called 'Getting the Spits 101.' I refuse to believe this is simply because I'm gay. There is, after all, the rare gay spitter. Besides, there is no box to check when signing up for man-tutorials: they're sort of compulsory.
I can also attest that the spits are not a Midwest invention. My time in California revealed as many spit-shooters as here at home. The only noticeable difference was spitting from the skateboard.
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Custom thesis
posted 11/26/09 @ 8:37 AM CST
Men, answer please: Why do you spit?
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