I had a most peculiar experience in the men’s room this afternoon. And I think I should tell you about it, because A) that’s what I do here, and 2) you can get a good chuckle. There aren’t very many times one can say he had a ‘peculiar experience in the men’s room’ without getting funny looks, but trust me: this was great, and it had nothing to do with anyone soiling his pants. For once.
It all started when I was in the men’s room, sitting on the toilet. There was another dude in the second stall. These stalls are arranged where you can’t see the feet of your neighbor unless you bend way down. And you don’t want to do that, because your junk touches the water. So basically, I didn’t know who it was in the other stall, and he certainly didn’t know who I was.
So I sat in there and did my thing, got finished, and was about to dismount, when all of a sudden I started hearing some soft moaning. Like the type where you are trying to supress it. Like when you don’t want someone to hear it. Heavy breathing and a little shifting around of the khakis. Yeah. I was pretty startled by the thought myself. I frowned and looked at the wall, thinking, “No way. There’s no way someone’s jerking it in here.”
Well, no sooner did I finish that thought than a loud clack, clack, skid, and voila! there’s a phone lying on the floor in front of me. So in the midst of someone’s payoff, he dropped the phone. It tumbled and cartwheeled into my stall and landed right in front of me.
Sigh. Yeah, of course I looked down to see it. Yes, I was in fact, expecting to see a picture of some hot, oiled-up woman with her mams hanging out. Or perhaps, a pregnant woman taking it from a nameless muscle-bound stud. Twin Asian girls smiling at some lollipop between them. Anything. But not some nameless muscle-bound stud oiled up with his hand on his own lollipop. Alone. OH GOD NO.
I was done with my business, so I stood up, stepped over the phone and made hasty exodus from the bathroom. There was no way I was going to touch that phone. I bet dude hurried up and cleaned himself up to get over there and get his phone before someone else came in to see it, though. But I’ll tell you one thing: he’s now going to be walking around the office in a paranoid craze, wondering who has discovered him. Wondering whether or not someone recognizes the bright red Otter Box. Oh yeah. He’s screwed. So to speak.
I’ve always suspected this guy was pulling taffy in there, because one time I went to use the stall right after he had walked out, and was very surprised to find that the odor he left behind was not that of excrement at all. It was, in fact, the overwhelming smell of bleach. And you know what else smells like semen. I mean bleach. Dammit. I was trying to let you guess it without telling you.
So anyway, now it’s confirmed. I know who Bam Stroker is. The question is, what will I do with that information?
So he was like and I was like and he was like and then I was like and now he’s like and I’m like