So This Actually Happened

It hit me the other day that things happen to me and that’s normal because things happen to everyone. Only I tend to share them in a forum for many to laugh at. I find comfort, however,  that their laughter is marred by the deep-recessed knowledge that shit happens to them too.

This epiphany happened on Friday when a little kid accidentally peed on my leg at the mall. Let me paint the picture with words.

I was in the Spokane Valley mall this past Friday and after the long 130 mile trip from Moscow, two bottles of water and a coffee proved too much for my tank to hold. So, I went to the restroom. Quickly.

I don’t know about most other guys but when choosing a urinal I always try to pick a far right or left one just to lower the probability of having to pee next to someone. There is always an awkward period of silence and if it is broken, the awkwardness is increased exponentially. Here are three scenarios that happened over the past few years causing me to choose pee-solitude.

  1. 2004 Salt Lake International Airport: An elderly guy is peeing next to me and explaining that the first sign of prostate cancer is when the pee-stream goes “that way”, briefly taking his hands away from control position to demonstration position causing him to lose control, piss the front of his pants and scream, “DANG FUCK!”.
  2. 2009 Patty’s Too, Post Falls, Idaho: Guy peeing next to me farts and begins to fake cough. I couldn’t help but start to laugh which caused me to fake cough as well.
  3. 2002 US Naval Air Station San Diego: A drunk sailor steps up to the urinal next to mine and states as soon as he’s done he is going to punch me in the face. I finished first and calmly left, passing two Marines to whom he declared the same intention. You can guess…

So there are three perfect examples of why, given the choice, the urinal decision is important. But sometimes trouble comes to you and on Friday, trouble came in the form of an eight year old kid. This actually happened.

I walked into the empty mall restroom and before me where four urinals; two tall ones on the left and two shorter ones on the right. I chose the tall one on the far left. Shortly after an eight year old kid comes in and chooses the one right next to me and while I thought that was weird, I found it even more weird that he managed to pee positioning himself in such a way that his back was to me. Now it’s not that I was trying to watch a little kid pee (you perv) but there are some things you just can’t help but notice. Especially if it’s weird and kind of funny.

This little kid obviously wanted to use the “big guy” urinal and had no choice but to pee next to me. So, he tried as best as he could to do so discretely and he would have been successful but he forgot that there is a possibility of other people coming in the restroom. And people did. Realizing he was completely exposed by peeing with his pack to me, he freaked and quickly turned to his entire body position hard left, overshooting the urinal and crossing the stream over my leg…and then back again. With two lines of warm piss soaking into my pant leg I heard the kid let out a faint and defeated, “oooooh”.

You can not be mad at this. If you get mad at this, then you are a bad person. I know he didn’t mean such a faux pas and a faux pas of this epic scale usually involves a “talking to” but knowing that this kid was on the verge of tears over friendly fire, all I could say was “don’t worry about it, buddy”.

I walked over to the sink and proceeded to paper towel the accident away without making him feel worse. I fully expected him to sprint for the door, but God bless him, he remembered to wash his hands.

Emeril’s Tie

Over the course of my life I have had a few interactions with certain celebrities and for the most part they have been fairly good experiences. I always walk away feeling a little surprised that these said celebrities were normal people like me. I can’t understand why I would think that every celebrity burns stacks of money in their furnace or hire poor immigrants to be human footstools but unless they prove me wrong, that’s the assumption I make. Anyway, today’s story is about an odd encounter I had with Emeril Lagasse.

A few years ago I worked at the Alliance Center (pictured above) as a corporate project manager and I must say, I hated it. I am not what you call “corporate material” by any stretch of the imagination. Everyday consisted of going to the same meetings with the same people raising the same concerns and answering the same questions with the same answers. You know you have a bad job when you take breaks through out the day just to ride the elevator. The one good part about the job was I had some perks at the restaurant on the lobby floor because their account was under my project portfolio. The restaurant was ‘Emerils’ inspired by none other than the famous Emeril Lagasse himself.

Since I had a few perks at the restaurant, one including a big discount on a bar tab, I became pretty good friends with most of the staff there. I am a firm believer that people in the food service industry are the greatest American we have. No where else can you find harder workers who have to take shit on a daily basis from the cock suckers of the world. If you are ever at a restaurant and you are snotty to a server for no reason I swear I will stab you in the leg with a soup spoon. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, well over the course of discussion one night the bartender told me they were working double time in preparation for the emperor himself to arrive, Emeril Lagasse. They hated him. Apparently he was a real ass to all the chefs and servers but he is the man so they sucked it up. And since hurricane Katrina shut down his main place in New Orleans he would be staying in the ATL for quite some time.

Weeks past and my job really took a turn towards the busy side so my beer days took a hit and the chance to meet Emeril left my brain. That is until I past him in the parking garage. He really is a lot shorter than I thought. I mean he’s not short like qualifying for a handicap sticker but short enough to play keep away with his hat indefinitely. Regardless of his height, he was the most famous chef in the world and the dude did drive a really nice Mercedes. I couldn’t help but notice that this was one of those cars that had to be the same price as a nice house. I also noticed there was a tie was sticking out of the passenger side door. That’s when my stupidity took over, as usual.

“How cool would it be to have a tie that belonged to Emeril Lagasse?” Actually in hindsight, that’s pretty dumb. Who would believe or care whether I had a tie that belonged to Emeril? It’s not like I could invite dinner guests over and bring them into my closet to look at Emeril’s tie in a glass case. I’m not even a big fan. But that wasn’t going through my head at the time. The only thing that was, was this, “tie..tie…tie..tie..”

So I watched Emeril and the lady in the business suit walk across the drive towards the building and then I started to work on the tie. I pulled with all my might but it wasn’t happening. I guess that is why you pay $100,000 for a car because that door was vacuum sealed and wasn’t giving an inch on that tie. I should have remembered that when I slammed my own tie in the door a few weeks ago. My memory isn’t what it used to be.

Well, the tug of war was turning out to be a stalemate so I did the dumbest thing one could do in that position. I tried the door handle of the Benz. Wouldn’t you know it? The fucking alarm went off. I went out of body the second that “BLEE BLEE BLEE” alarm sound rang out in the echoing garage because I have a vivid memory of me standing there, hand on tie and other hand on door handle. Emeril and the lady he was with stopped in their tracks and looked back to see me there, evidence in hand, wide-eyed, looking directly back at them. They slowly started to walk back towards the said vehicle with me, trapped like a raccoon in a garbage can, obviously guilty of something.

I tried shouting over the alarm at them, “BLEE BLEE BLEE …YOU SHUT…BLEE BLEE..YOUR TIE IN…BLEE BLEE… THE..BLEE BLEE …CAR

Emeril, with a look of both confusion and annoyance, tilted his head to hear what I was saying as he fiddled in his pockets to find the keys and stop the alarm. Finally he hit the alarm button on the key chain and asked, “what’s going on now?”.

God I wanted to run but I assumed that would have just led to a possible termination, police chase and a spot on “World’s dumbest Criminals IV”. So I collected myself and in a shaky voice and a red face I said, “You shut your tie in the door and I tried to get it out for you but I set off the alarm. Sorry about that.”

Emeril looked at the tie sticking out of his door like the tongue of a dead dog and said, “Oh…”. Then came the long awkward silence. I picked up my briefcase and went to gracefully exit. But before i could take a step he looked at me, smiled and said, “thanks”.

I didn’t know how to take that. Was he being funny? Was his agent calling the cops as we exchanged awkward glances? Will I be a story on his show as he kills dead time between sauteing the sauce and adding the “BAM” to whatever he is cooking? Am I about to receive a punch in the nose from his disproportionately sized grabbers? Nope. He extended his hand and introduced himself as Emeril Lagasse and asked my name.

After our introduction he invited me to dinner that night on the house. Wow, and here I was trying to steal his tie. What a shitbag I am. I gracefully declined, saying I was honored but I had to drive to Augusta to see the girl I was dating at the time and that was at least 4 hours with Friday night traffic. He said the invitation was open anytime and we went our separate ways.

I got in my car, hands a shakin’. That could have been bad on so many levels but it taught me a valuable lesson; If you are going to steal a celebrity’s tie from their car, wait until they have left the area.

Be sure to check out Pammy’s story over at MacabreFitness!

Ties And Flies

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a hurry to make it to a very important meeting. Why was I in a hurry, you ask? It was because I had stopped off at my home for lunch and had to finish an episode of Home Improvement. I mean, they thought Randy might have leukemia and I had to watch the whole thing to see if he would be alright. You don’t expect me to concentrate at sales meeting when Randy’s health was in question, do you? Well, it turns out he was okay, it was just a gland thing. (whew) But that extra five minutes of suspenseful pacing left me little time to make it to the meeting on time. So I raced out the door, hopped in my car and tore off down the road to the corporate suck tank, call I work.

When I am in a rush it is inevitable that every light on the way will turn yellow at the exact point I am too far away to make it before it turns red. It’s a tease from God, I swear it. So, I will slam on my brakes and cause everything from the backseat to transfer to the front and the pissface behind me will mouth the words, “mother dicklick ass shit!”. I of course will make the situation much worse and wave out the window as if to say, “I know…I suck”.

So I rip into the parking lot at top speed, jump out of the car, grab my briefcase, slam the car door and “HERK!”. I slammed my tie in the car door. Now normal people will open the door, sheepishly straighten it and walk away. Not me! I pulled and yanked and pulled and yanked and finally….it came loose. Only it looked like this.

I shredded the shit out of a $70 tie all because I am a half an I.Q. point higher than retard. I walked a little defeated to my meeting just staring at the end of my tie. I had to decide what would be worse; being late or looking dumb. I choose to be late. I ran up to my office and taped the shreds to the back of the tie and believe it or not, it looked half way fixed. I made my way to the conference room and I could here muffled chatter behind the door. I opened it up and walked confidently to an empty seat, feeling twenty pairs of eyes on me. I sat down and the meeting went ahead as if I had been there the whole time. Then I notice the tie on my lap right next to my shirt tail. Shirt tail?

My shirt tale was coming out of my fly that was left unzipped. True mother fuckin’ story.

I went home that night and stopped at a gas station. I bought a Samurai sword. It’s the little things that I have to hold onto after a day like that.

On a happier note, the first article of Macabre Fitness is up. It’s a shoe review! Oooooooooo!

Newton Can Freakin’ Hang

I don’t know why things like this happen to me but they do. Maybe they happen to everyone else and maybe I am more apt to share my follies on here but lately I feel like I was born under a bad sign. Most people know that I am a big believer in karma almost to the extreme that killing a spider is tough for me. In the back of my mind there maybe a chance that in the next life I will be a spider. I know that sounds crazy but so is my life. I’m a Catholic and we don’t even believe in reincarnation but I am taking no chances. Spiders repulse me so unless one is chewing on my ear I will probably just leave the room and make up the excuse that he will eat all the flies which I hate 1/10000’s of a percent less. But I digress. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I would have no luck at all.

So, I was at the grocery store yesterday picking up a few items for the week. I try not to eat out for every meal but as many know it is almost impossible so my list was short only including breakfast food, coffee, and a few Healthy Choice meals for odd nights. I also had a two liter of Sprite on the list because nothing will make a fresh out of the microwave, 900 degree on the outside, -32 degree on the in side, fettuccine alfredo chicken meal go down easier then to be complimented by lemon and lime. So while carrying six items in my arms, (because getting a cart means the temptation to buy 30 more items) I reached for the three liter Sprite perched on the top shelf when all Hell broke lose.

Maybe this was in God’s plan? Maybe the other five three liters where making a mad dash for an escape? Perhaps Newton was just an asshole? Regardless the reason, five three liters of Sprite seemed to leap from the gated barrier and crash to the floor, 6 feet below. But three of them didn’t bounce. Their hulls were breached and they took off in different directions like missiles. The other two bounced face level causing me to instinctively to drop my items in the hopes to catch the already armed sodas before they too would initiate the launch system. Of course I had eggs that were now scrambled.

This happened in about 2 and a half seconds. In that time most would drop an F-bomb or two. That would be appropriate for this circumstance. I, on the other hand, never have the right word to say. Instead I scream the only thing that pops in my head and it usually is a little more embarrassing than the event itself. Prime example: I slipped and fell in public. Instead of shouting something cool like “shit” or “damn it” I screamed “NOOOOOO!” As if I refused to accept the fact that my feet where parallel to my face.

So while the soda rockets where streaking down the isle, my groceries where in a pile on my new shoes and I was involuntarily drinking Sprite, I shouted the only thing that popped in my head. I yelled in a panicked voice, “GRANDMOTHER!” Grandmother? Who says that? I’ve had a day to digest this and my theory is that I was about to say “mother f*cker” but I was trying to be reserve and my data bank went straight to “grandmother”. That’s my theory.

Well, after the mist cleared there was an eerie quite. The others who had been in the soda and chip isle had bolted from the scene as if to say “not my mess”. I could feel the trickle of Sprite dripping from my chin, the last exhaust of CO2 leave the bottles as soda drained from the cracked tops and that unmistakable warming sensation of pure humiliation as blood rushed to my face. There were only a few options.

  1. Fake a seizure
  2. Get pissed off and mask the embarrassment through blame of someone else
  3. Just run
  4. Suck it up and wait for the poor kid to show up with a mop.

I waited. I collected the half drained soda bottles as the chatter from the neighboring isle began to resume. I could hear their conversations. I couldn’t tell if they were laughing but I did hear some mention of “grandmother”. I assume I am being talked about right now around at least four office water coolers.

Soon the mop and bucket arrived and the kid assured me he had it under control. I held my breath and did the walk of shame to the check out isle and explained the incident to the cashier and she told me it was alright. I left quickly and sat in my new car all sticky. Feeling mission unaccomplished, I went home and showered trying to laugh the past hour away. It wasn’t as funny as I had hoped but I am sure one day it will be. For now though, screw three liters, screw Publix and screw Sprite. I’m now a Fresca man.

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