Pissed At A Starbucks Toilet

There ought to be a law against people who go to a Starbucks bathroom, flush the toilet, turn on the hand blower, and then do not immediately open the door and leave. 

It's so rude to professional Starbucks pissers who are listening to the hand dryer thinking they will be able to relieve themselves when the blower goes silent. 

Just the other day I stopped at my favorite Starbucks which is on my delivery route. I had a fierce urge to take a piss. My old bladder was bursting. 

I entered and looked at the single bathroom door and there was no one waiting to go in. Relief, I felt happy for a second. Then, I turned the handle of the door and it was locked. "Shit," I mumbled quietly. 

I started swaying nervously waiting to hear the toilet flush. It did quickly, Then the hand blower started blasting away. 

Ah. Thank goodness. Relief was a few seconds away. I then heard the blower turn off and I already had my hand on my zipper in anticipation of emptying my bloated bladder.

But, the door did not open. Another few moments went by and I was sweating and swaying  and getting crazy. I was just a little bit away from peeing in my pants. After all, I'm sixty nine years old. My bladder is no longer made of steel. Now, it seems to be made of tissue paper. 

Another moment passed and I couldn't take it. I snapped. I pounded hard on the door with both fists. Nothing happened. Then, I started kicking the door while still pounding away with my hands.
Nothing doing.


 I started screaming "get out of there" "I gotta go bad." Still, only a locked door. My bladder was at its limit. The piss was just about to burst out. It was personal now. This bastard inside was trying to torture me. I screamed "get the fuck out of there, asshole, I'm dying here". 

The door finally opened and this little prick with a Chicago White Sox cap emerges, I felt brave knowing I was not going to get punched out by some nasty dude. As I roughly pushed past this little shit who was about four and a half feet tall and maybe eight years old I screamed at him " Did you ever think someone was waiting to get in here?" He looked up at me as if he had never been abused before.

 I emptied my tortured bladder, came out and started heading back to my van. Just as I was pulling open the Starbucks front door this huge, strong, heavily tattooed arm clamped around the back of my neck. This  big muscle bound, scary looking guy growls "that's my son, asshole" pointing down to the little prick who is now grinning widely at me. I say "umm, ah, I". 

The bruiser, probably his father interrupts my stutter. He says "You have three words to say to  little Tommy "Repeat them back asshole or say goodnight as he cocks his arm back and makes a fist"."Say, I'm sorry Tommy". I looked down at this little bitch who was now laughing hard. I looked at the brute before I humiliated myself. He was mad. 

I'm sorry Tommy". "Ok" little Tommy says.
The tough guy looks at me as I opened the door walking away.. " "Go get your dick fixed shithead" he says. He waited for an answer. 
I only could come up with "thank you" 

What a pussy I am. My OCD made me replay the situation over and over for days. The conclusion was "I'm a pussy.  

What a shitty day

Shit can happen at any time. When you are a 69 year old guy who is not in great health to begin with beware of potential failures in your major bodily systems especially the  gastrointestinal system (the bowels) when you do not have good control.

I have had Irritable Bowel Syndrome, (IBS)  for a long time. That condition results in many episodes of stomach distress such as gas, bloating, constipation and diarrhea. Well, disaster struck a few days ago. I was driving on a busy Chicago st. when I felt bad gas pains. I knew diarrhea was coming quickly so I started looking for any structure with a toilet. I did not care where parked. I was ready to stop in the middle of the street. It was that bad. I spotted a building with a parking lot and pulled in.

My load was about to explode as I opened the car door and bolted for the entrance of wherever I was.  I got about two steps and I knew I was a goner. The diarrhea exploded into my underwear soaking through my jeans. My stomach dumped another load into my already soaked and nauseating underwear seconds later..

I waddled back to the car and pushed the button to open the trunk. Then, I waddled again to the back of the trunk to use as cover. I pulled off my jeans and underwear and threw them in the trunk. I was wearing a sweatshirt and wrapped it around my bare torso.  I looked into the jam packed trunk and found some paper towels and a pint of water. It was like discovering  gold.

, I started pouring water on the paper towels and trying to clean up enough to start driving again without polluting the car with my shit stained ass, Each wipe seemed like eternity. I  kept peering around hoping no one would see me. Finally, I was cleaned  up enough so it felt possible to drive back home.
  I wrapped my unsoiled, thin jacket around my naked torso and fumbled back behind the wheel.

 I  tied the unscathed little jacket around my waist. It would have to be my main wardrobe component  to cover my bare ass and protect the cars upholstery. I struggled  miserably in traffic for 30 minutes to get back to my underground garage space. I fortunately had no more accidents.

The garage was loaded with tenants because it was a busy Saturday afternoon. I gingerly half jogged into the garage doorway  holding the jacket over my nakedness. I made it to the eternally slow elevators with two couples waiting with me keeping me company who naturally were going to higher floors then I. They didn't notice anything about my weird attire. I wondered, however, if they could smell me as we rode up..

I finally got to my apartment, threw off my jacket and sweatshirt and lunged into my bathroom.  I never appreciated my shower until Saturday.  Then I fell in love with it as the water splashed on me.

 I washed furiously and started to feel human again as I contemplated my next move which would be redressing and going back downstairs to my car, spraying the entire interior and throwing the stink ridden clothes into the garbage can. I then did a major clothes wash and an hour later the ordeal was over except for spraying my car to get rid of any smells I could detect.

. A few hours later when I went back to the car it smelled fresh. The smell had not infiltrated the interiors..   What a nightmare.