H.G.T.

Bathroom misadventures part II:

After the episode in the Mezzican restaurant, and last night, I’m going to quit pissing in public. 

I walk into the men’s room at wal mart, ignoring a guy next to me in a gay peach colored shirt. 

I take out General Patton, and, carefully using both hands to guide his aim, order him to fire a fusillade. A long, long one – one of those ones where you lean against the wall and let out a long sigh. 

Suddenly, I hear a loud noise.  

It’s a high, girlish voice going “oh my god – oh MY GOD, OH – My . . . god!”

I look left.  Standing next to me is an attractive blond girl, chesty, in tight clothes, looking over the urinal divider at the brave general. 

My first thought was that I had fucked up – alot – by wandering into a women’s can and whipping it out.

Then I thought, “no – urinal.  You’re cool. She fucked up – alot.”

That thought was then spoiled when attractive girl after attractive, high-school aged, southern girl walked out of the toilet stalls.

The last lady in line was a teacher or preacher of some sort (also a woman) who explained to me that her church group, from Mississipi, had been on the bus for hours and that the woman’s room was closed for cleaning.  As she is explaining, I am still whizzing.  

She asked me if the men watching the door for them had said anything to me. 

At first I thought that the door watchers were either pulling a cute trick on their female friends, or me.

Then I thought maybe I had my “please, sir, don’t speak to me – I am currently occupied with private thoughts and could become violent if queried” face turned up to eleven when I walked through the door.

Then I remebered.  As I walked through the door, a very minister looking guy and a dude who had to be his son had been bracketing the door.  They said nothing to me as I walked between them, because they were both occupied with private thoughts at the expense of a trim young chicana wearing hip-huggers and mid-riff tank top, accesorized with a half-visible T-bac thong.  Maybe they don’t have those in Mississipi, and they were studying the girl for inclusion in a smart sermon about the value of conservative dress.  

Afterword, I was faintly bothered by the fact that I had so quickly dissmissed such an attractive girl as a guy simply because of my own preconceptions . . .