Saturday, December 19, 2009
Another Dumb & Dumber Moment
" Your Hose is too short
Your Pump is too weak
Stand closer to the seat dude
Or you'll Piss on Your Feet"
The words scrawled on the wall above the stand up toilet caused me to laugh out loud. A generous and boisterous laugh. Immediately I tried to stop, but the damage was done. I could feel the eyes of others turning my way. One did not interrupt the solitude and false perception of being alone in a men's bathroom. These guys were concentrating and now I just broke the mood. Way to go. Laughing out loud in a public toilet can bring down the wrong kind of attention.
Totally embarrassed now, I go to zip up. Shit! Seems I didn't pack it all in and now I have my business pinched hard in the zipper. I begin to double over like my butt is somehow trying to run away from the pain. I want to scream. It hurts oh so ........... If I scream now on the heels of the belly laugh, someones going to beat on me, I just know it. But damn it hurts.
It will hurt more when I unzip that which I have stupidly zipped up. Holding back the tears and the screams of agony, I yank hard and yes,...............It hurts even worse this time. And still I dare not make a sound. These clowns already think I am odd.
Trying to regain my composure, I think I am acting cool as I stiff leg it over to the sink to wash up. All I can think about is the pain while frantically waving my hand under the stupid sensor to get some flippin water going. Nothing. No water.
I look up into the mirror over the sink. My face is all red and that vein on my forehead is pulsing hard enough I think it's gonna blow. Again I begin frantic hand waving trying to get some water to flow. A hand reaches over and hits the top of the faucet head. "Bub, you have to hit it. Waving ain't gonna cut it."
I look over and this huge guy is standing there. The look on his face tells me I am not acting cool. He is doing his best to not laugh. "Uh, Thanks." I turn back, wash my hands and move on to the blow dryer.
I find the door and leave. The sound of several male voices laughing follow me out into the daylight. I return to the car and the journey with wounded pride and wounded body. My darling wife asks me what's wrong. "Nothing", I say, preferring to not have more salt poured on my wounds.
This happened to me on one of my trips south some years ago. The tale speaks for itself.