I’m the kinda guy who likes to be left alone while visiting the little boys room, especially at work.  I’m also fully aware that most people don’t really like to acknowledge that the people working in the restaurant they are dining in actually use the bathroom, so I generally am pretty intent on getting in and out with little fanfare.

Working in a bar, however, can offer it’s own unique obstacles that can interfere with my potty efficiencies.

Fast-forward to me, assuming the position at a discreet local which we will refer to solely as Urinal A, my head resting on my forearm that I have bracing myself against the wall, while my other is busy with, well, you know, when all of a sudden a unkempt gentleman with questionable hygiene announces his arrival by crashing into the bathroom and zig-zagging his way to Urinal B, nearly causing me to pee on my shoe when he bumped into me on his way.

I maintain my stoic gaze forward, trying to ignore the thick breathing as the guy tries to equip himself, when all of a sudden I hear a firehose-esque blast into the back of the porcelain, followed with a deep and satisfying sigh which made me wonder if a cigarette and some spooning might follow.  Instead I can feel his eyes shift over to me and I hear,

“You know you can only rent this, right?”

I meet his gaze and noticed that while he is facing me his eyes have crossed over with a dreamy glaze and a curly smirk is plastered on his face.

Zipping up and preparing to stomp on his foot before tossing him head-first into wall, I calmly respond, “Excuse me, Sir?”

“The beer, bro.  The beer.  You know you can only rent this shit bro!  For reeeeeaaal!”

I shoulda’ done it.  I so shoulda’ done it…