Thursday, February 07, 2008
At about 11:30 this morning, I was in the bathroom at work, in a stall, refreshing my brain with some algebraic word problems. The deuce was relatively uninsane. Then, someone came in to pee. To better equip you to deal with bathroom-related stories, the layout of the bathroom is long and relatively narrow, such that there are three urinals on one wall and four stalls on the other wall. There are entrances and sinks on both ends. That's neither here nor there, but it seems like something you would want to know. Anywho, so this dude (or so I assume) is peeing in one of the urinals as I'm finishing up. I can only imagine the sheer horror that must have been in this man's eyes when he heard the clank of my belt buckle as I mindlessly raised my pants and realized that in less than 10 seconds, I would be exiting my stall with a greater than 40% chance of seeing him. He presumably stopped midstream (which does, in fact, burn) and just walked out. No flush. No attempt to even just run his hands under some water to appease societal norms. He wanted none of it. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there as fast as humanly possible. Doesn't he know that I'm just as scared of him as he is of me? Did he think I was going to exit the stall and immediately attempt to shake his hand? Because I was.