Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Shit That Happens to Me

There I am “sitting” in the toilet stall finishing up on, might I say, one of the most awkward shits of my entire life.

The door was busted, so the lock on the stall was questionable. After fidgeting with the door for several minutes, I deemed it OK to use. Not to my surprise the toilet was hideous.

You’ve all been to the bar bathroom: huge puddle of piss on the ground, on the floor, splattered on the toilet. You do your best cleaning lady impersonation with the toilet paper and toilet seat covers, but figures, the toilet seat covers are all gone.

You stack countless amounts of toilet paper around the seat, mummifying it. To no avail, the piss seeps right through it. And now you’re low on toilet paper. Fuck.

Already squeamish about having to sit bare-assed on someone else’s sloppy urination job, I begin to ever so delicately toilet “hover”. Thank god I played baseball in high school because the countless number of wall sits I did trained me for my now- future career in public restroom shit taking.

So there I am, finishing my shit, hovering above the toilet, halfway mid-wipe, and the stall door breaks open. By “breaks” I mean flies WIDE FUCKING OPEN. It takes this dildo a good seven minutes to notice me, he’s on his cell phone, “texting” his way into the bar bathroom, probably to do cocaine. So there I am when he looks down, MUCH to HIS surprise, a small testiculared man trying to wipe his ass. He sees everything there is to see from a guy that is bending over a toilet, pants down below his knees, hand firmly caressing his ever-so-tender sphincter region.

This is the same guy that was sitting right next to me outside the bar, while I’m on a date. Of course I was on a date, it wouldn’t be a complete story otherwise.

“Sorry about that man, real sorry” 
“What did you see?” 
“We’re all men here, nothing we’ve never seen before.”
“Why weren’t you sitting down?”
“Did you sit down?”

Keep in mind this guy was about a hundred pounds overweight, wearing a fedora, a band shirt (Which I believe was a picture of Devendra Banhart, but for the life of me cannot remember), jeans that were too small for him, and flip-flops.

He spent the entire first part of the evening (prior shit experience), talking REALLY loud about which director was better, Jean Luc Godard or Woody Allen. Which absolutely required me to make fun of him in my head. Why, look how the tables have turned. It could have been anyone else in this shitty bar, in a bar full of about a hundred people. It ended up being the fucking guy from outside. The guy that has been reminding me all night that I don’t have a job because pretentious-tards like him are stealing them all, and eating all the craft services.

“Did you sit down?”
“You would”

Safe to say I left short after.


  1. heh...

    confusing put down, are you sure he got it?

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