When
I was fourteen, I often spent Friday nights with Darcy, a friend I’d met in
sixth grade. We’d loiter outside South Philly’s seediest taverns in
anticipation of some cash-starved vagrant willing to buy us some beer in
exchange for a few bucks. After scoring a forty-ounce of St. Ides (nothing but
the best for this guy), we’d stroll on over to a nearby baseball field,
where we’d head for the dugout to chug the beer on a hard wooden bench (yep,
the ol’ dug chug) and chain-smoke Marlboro Menthols. What an example I was for
today’s youth. Believe it or not, it gets worse.
After
the dug chug, we’d wander the aisles of various department stores and do a
little shoplifting. Boosting a bottle of Aspen is a hell of a lot easier with a
little liquid courage. That part of the evening came to a end, however, when I
made the mistake of lifting a previously viewed VHS copy of Hideaway from
a local Blockbuster and we got caught. They didn’t call the fuzz, but we were
banned for life. Funnily enough, I ended up getting a job at the very same store just
four years later. The manager who busted us still worked there, too. I
shit you not.
On
one of these crazy Friday nights, we found ourselves wandering a strip mall
when a full bladder sent me running for the closest establishment open for
business. That establishment happened to be a Burger King. I slipped inside and
went straight for the bathroom, which was clear of patrons. Bypassing the one
and only urinal, I decided to go “shy guy” and headed for the stall placed
strategically close to said urinal. I quickly did my business, zipped up, and
turned to leave.
Door
opens. I step out. Standing in front of the urinal was a middle aged guy
sporting a leather jacket and white tee, pants and underwear at his ankles. He
turned toward me in a very hey, I got somethin’ to show ya! kinda way.
And
show me he did.
His
white tee was pulled up over his poochy belly and his cleanly-shaven junk was
on full display. Needless to say, I was more than a little taken aback. Time
stopped as I looked at him, looked at his baby hamster of a penis, then looked
at the door, where I hastened without saying a word.
I
found Darcy and we headed out. In the parking lot, I recall saying, “Uh, some
guy in the bathroom totally just showed me his dick.” She just kinda laughed
and the evening went on as if nothing happened. We continued our Friday night
shenanigans for several months, but when the urge struck, I chose elsewhere to
relive myself.
