EPTTo date, I've been pushed off a toilet, forced to unload my manure in a urinal because of a terrorist scare, and some other lesser goodies that I might retell at later dates. I used to flinch every time someone walked in when I'm relieving myself, and I can only completely relax when I'm 100% sure I'm alone.
Today I have a new story to add to the compendium. This is from this weekend, where I find myself looking at... the ceiling. I'm taking a piss, and on this day of all days I'm spaced out. I always am - I've thought up entire songs during particularly boring lessons at school, but never in a public bathroom. It's been a while since anything noteworthy has happened to me in one. So, while the Sentinel of the South is doing his job, I'm off in lala land for what might be the first time in years.
The impact-on-urinal sound is weird today, but at this point I pay it no heed. There are obviously more important things to think about. Then I notice the bzzt-bzzt that usually accompanies something interesting reaching my phone. Who could be messaging me today? I don't have any friends.
While reaching for my pocket, I notice something else. My dick is pointing in the wrong direction.
Instead of opening the Floodgates of Freedom into the Receptacle of Righteousness, I'm actually pissing a little bit to the left. And it's spattering on the floor (oh, THAT's the sound I was hearing), not beneath me - whew! - but on the floor inside the stall to my left.
The stall to my left at this point is occupied.
WELL SHIT. Course correction - play it cool, Sent, he hasn't said anything, he probably hasn't noticed either
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS"
There goes that idea.
Nonchalantly zip up. Maybe he didn't notice it before, maybe I can sneak my way out of here. Even if he gets up quickly.
I have two options. I can Usain Bolt out of here and hope nobody notices me in the hallway, then walk out like nothing happened. It's my last day at the gym and my membership will be frozen until next summer, no questions asked, right?
But it's also Saturday afternoon and there's a crapload of people here. Generally nobody is ready to start a conversation, but why take that chance, right? So I go with the second option and pretend it wasn't me. Quickly finish and casually walk over to wash my hands.
"I'M TALKING TO YOU ASSHOLE"
Looks like that Ferrari was behind door number one after all. So a very irate man of about 30-35, probably a frequent visitor by the looks of his build, walks out of the stall, in his undies, holding his sweatpants which seem to have barely made contact with the Inundation of Inaccuracy.
"Look, sir, I- I'm sorry, but I, uh..."
"WHAT. WHAT DID YOU DO."
The gears are grinding in my head at full speed. Might have been steam coming out of my ears for all it was worth. I was trying to come up with a convincing lie and rationalize my folly at the same time.
At this point I realize that if I can make it to the general vicinity of the exit, I'll be golden. This guy might be mad but there's no way he's going out there without any pants on.
"I just... wasn't paying attention, I guess. Look I'm really sorry but I have to---"
"ARE YOU FUCKING AUTISTIC KID? WHAT THE HELL ELSE COULD YOU BE THINKING ABOUT"
A little bit of spittle hit me in three spots on my face. In my book, that counts for all the damage my Dew of Defilement had done to his pants.
"I mean, can't you.. you know, wash it out? Have you never accidentally... (at this point his face indicated he was inventing more retard-related berations) well you know... last few drops?"
Saved. I see his eyes relax for a thousandth of a thousandth of a second. Definitely still livid, but at least it downplayed the fact that my Pool of Putrefaction had made contact with his sweatpants.
Long period of silence.
"...You're really lucky I'm done for the day, you little shit. Get out."
Bomb has been defused. Counter-terrorists win. I just throw away the paper towel I was apparently holding for that entire time, and leave while I still can.
My destiny endures...
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