So, it was Monday night and I hit up my boy B to go catch the Steelers/49ers game. We hit up this local joint called Wingshack, where I proceeded to release my inner blackness on an insane number of all you can eat wings while simultaneously bumming beer off the abominable ho bunnies next to us. The game was delayed due to the broke ass 49ers not being able to pay their light bill so half-time didn’t come until nearly 11:00 P.M. I wanted to stay for the whole game, but by that time my stomach felt like I was about to shit a midget who also had to take a shit. As unstoppable as it felt, I’m pretty sure one of the turds was either Marshawn Lynch or the Juggernaut.
I decided to cash out and I motioned for my waitress who apparently took this gig as a hobby to break up the monotony of her real job which was standing outside and doing absolutely nothing. There’s only one waitress because there was a Christmas party during the day and everyone else who was scheduled got sauced like some BBQ ribs and called in. Lovely. Time was ticking and I’m clenching my ass like it’s my first day in prison when she finally wanders over to my table. I asked for my check and she said, “I’ll be right back,” as convincingly as a black person in a horror film. I held out for a few moments and then realize that I couldn’t wait.
A turtlehead was knocking at my door like the police, so I made a dash to do the unthinkable: use a restroom in a bar. There’s only one bathroom in this place so I was sure it’d look as torn up as Kat Stack’s box. I T-rexed my way in (tucked my arms into my shirt and used my elbows to open the door - GDLK double protection!) and prepared for the worst… To my surprise it wasn’t that bad. I’d say it was a step above Target, but not quuuiiiite Sears. Anywho, I wrapped the toilet seat up like a Christmas present and shit so much I had to raise my balls to keep them from touching the DANGER ZONE.
Feeling relieved and pleased with my good fortune regarding the restroom condition, I wiped, pulled my pants up, and proceeded to flush. TRICKLE WHAT THE FUCK??? AWWW, NAWWWW! JIGGLES HANDLE COME THE FUCK ON, MAN! I started to panic. I had come to this establishment and left it’s toilet in need of a rape kit. I couldn’t just walk out. *I’m an engineer, * I thought to myself. I can fix this. I looked at the tank on the toilet. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! I lifted the lid to discover that there was no water flowing into the tank. At that point, I realized fixing this was beyond my capabilities, so I calmed down and did the only thing I could: I washed my hands and got the fuck out.
When I reached my table I snatched my card and signed the receipt waiting for me. B asked me if everything was cool and I leaned over casually and whispered, “NiggahellnawIfuckedthetoiletupbadandIgottagetthefuckoutNAO!” He laughed, obviously neglecting the severity of the situation. I made good on my intentions and headed for the door.
As I walked out of the exit. I see another gentleman approaching the restroom. May God have mercy on his soul!
The next day I ran into B at work. Thinking back to the night before, I asked what went down after I left. The following is a transcript of that brief, but disturbing conversation:
Me: Yo, I saw a dude going to the bathroom as I was leaving. What happened?
B: Yo, B (B calls everyone else B. How Ironic is that?) after you left, shit got weird.
B: Yeah. B that went in after you was in there for like, 10 minutes.
Me: Damn. Even I couldn’t sit in there that long. How’d he manage that?
B: That’s not even it. He came out sniffing his fingers.
B: Yeah, B. I stayed until it was almost closing time. Our waitress went in to clean it up and came back out immediately, nearly in tears. She was like, “For the love of God, who would do such a-- I mean, what kind of person wou-- this is so nas–” She couldn’t even finish a sentence.
Me: Damn, I Hiroshima’d that shit.
B: Haha! But that’s not it. When she came out she asked for gloves and for someone to plunge it. And when she opened the door again, I could see shit ALL OVER THE WALLS. It looked like someone was fingerpainting.
Me: Haha, yeah it was-- WAIT WHAT? I didn’t do no shit like that!
B: Yeah, I think it was B who went in after you. I think he rubbed your shit all over the walls.
And that’s the story of how I found Million in Orlando.