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.