I got a stern “talking-to” after the Pants on Fire column a few weeks back. My wife made me pinky-swear that I’d start eating better while on the road. She mentioned something about being around for the grandkids, but I just think she’s sick of looking at my gut.
Either way, I agreed. Picking up a matchbox car off the floor shouldn’t be so hard. So, it was with great sadness that I passed McDonald’s and pulled into Subway last week. Like usual at lunchtime, I had to piss.
Generally speaking, I’m not a fan of using public restrooms right before I eat. I just feel like somehow, some way, another man’s penis residue is going to end up on my sandwich.
Annoyingly enough, there was just one girl working. I’m not sure if she was new or just really focused on her craft, but my balls were starting to swell as she placed little banana peppers with painstaking care. My knees started rocking as my patience grew thin.
Given the earthly shape of the family in front of me, I suspected a large volume order was about to be placed, most likely with a complete complement of toppings and condiments. I couldn’t wait through all that. I had to go.
I busted through the bathroom door and was surprised to find another man using the urinal. It was a little bathroom, much too small to share with another dude.
“Sorry…I’ll wait outside,” I offered.
“Nope…nope…I’m just about…ahhh….wraaaapped up here,” he stuttered while shaking his hips.
My stomach churned as he pointed his ass outward and slowly packed his apparently gigantic man-garbage back into his shorts.
“All yours,” he offered.
“Thanks,” I replied as he grabbed for the door without washing his hands.
“Enjoy your lunch now,” he blurted cheerfully while leaving the room.
“Enjoy your pecker...sweat…sandwich” I mumbled.
I was in mid-stream when a man coughed from inside the stall next to me. I had no idea anyone was in there. I couldn’t believe it.
“Mmm…nnnn…nnnnt,” he groaned, “…nnnnnnnnt.”
“Who takes a dump at subway?” I whispered to myself.
I was taken aback by the man’s struggle. The horrible rumblings were broken up by the man’s heavy breathing. It sounded like Darth Vader was being strangled with a whoopee cushion. My cheeks ballooned in disgust as his waste splashed into the waters below.
“Ahh…uhhhhhhh…yesss,” he mumbled under his breath. I clenched my teeth and winced as he continued to fight the good fight. I was waiting for him to ask who Number Two works for.
The stink became increasingly offensive. It smelled like disease and imminent death. The stench cannot be sufficiently described in words, but the man was clearly not in good health.
Sensing he was on the verge of an anal fissure, I forced out the rest of my pee and headed hastily for the sink. I squeezed out the last drop of soap and rushed to wash my hands.
“Ahh!” I blurted as the man quickly rose from the toilet. I was embarrassed by the outburst and feared the awkwardness of looking him in the eyes.
Blood rushed through my veins as the man’s shoes squeaked loudly on the floor. He started to yank feverishly at the toilet paper. I knew it wasn’t long before he would emerge. I pulled equally fast at the paper towels. Just as he was fidgeting with the stall lock I was able to escape. I leaned against the hallway and let out a sigh.
The relief was short-lived. I feared it was only a matter of time before he got in line behind me. Worse yet, I wondered, perhaps he was an employee?
I began to worry as the young girl was still making sandwiches for the same behemoth from before. I watched suspiciously as she walked out of sight for a moment.
“Hey…I need some help out here,” she shouted.
She wasn’t alone! My heart began racing…my head was spinning.
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.
The world seemed to slow down around me. I could hear the squeaking of his shoes getting closer and closer.
“Caaaaaannnn…I…Heeeelp yoooouuuuu?” echoed a deep, slow-motion voice from the distance.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I was paralyzed by the thought of his crap-riddled hands fondling my meal.
“Sir!” he repeated while snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, “What can I get you?”
“Um, give me a minute,” I stammered. I reached for my phone and nearly dialed 911. Instead, I acted like I just got an important text message. I didn’t care about the rubber gloves as he used his damn hands to pick them up! Not to mention, I used the last of the soap!
“Oh no! I can’t believe this,” I pretended.
“Is everything okay, sir?” he asked.
“I’ll be right back. I have to make a phone call.”
I hustled out of the restaurant and headed toward my car. While I was pleased to not be eating a poop-tainted sub, I felt bad for the young man who passed me on his way inside. The poor bastard will never know what I know. He’ll never know the horrible truth of every scrumptious bite.
I can only wonder what went through the worker’s minds as they watched me peel out from their parking lot. I hope it was a learning opportunity…to…ya know…not take a massive dump at work.