It sucks when you go to the theater and really have to pee during the movie.
If it’s a good movie, I’ll suffer and sit through the remainder of the film. I’ll trooper it to the end and then let it all go once I make that expeditiously escape to urinal freedom.
Pee-runs are usually presented in hilarious fashion.
I break down the door like John McClane needed to instantly disarm a bomb hidden in the John. It’s not healthy to hold it in, probably.
But it sure feels good to have a good release once in a while.
And then it’s ruined. Some asscallion just has to step up and take the urinal right beside me.
Of course it’s an old man. It’s 8 p.m., what is his elderly fossil doing up at this hour?
(Just kidding, I love the aged).
Now I have to be careful and make sure eyes don’t wander. If he sneaks a peak, do I strike a retiree? How can I punch someone while I’m peeing at the same time? Would hitting him and peeing on him at the same time be the ultimate double whammy?
He looks over and wants to make eye contact.
“See any good movies lately?”, he casually asks without considering the sign out front the building we were currently in that was blatantly marked “Cineplex”.
“Yes. Just now”, was not an interested response. I still had a long pee to try and finish.
“Which one was it?” he inquires more.
Why did I have to hold this in? Because I held this in forever, I’m camped out for a good couple more minutes. And now I have to prolong conversation while I’m at it?
“Evil Dead”, my eyes are awkwardly focused straight ahead of me at the tile that is so repetitively placed on the wall.
And which I regret doing, I look around. His glare is staring back at me and looking at my shoes. He’s checking out my pumas. Great.
“What are you looking at?” I blurt out and I try to swerve my member in the opposite direction.
“Listen, it’s been a while”, he shoots with me.
“S-since you went to the movies?” I inquiringly stutter.
“Since I peed. It helps me to talk out loud. It’s not easy when you’re my age”, he shares his veteran intellect.
“You could just sing aloud. I won’t mind”, I almost finish the never ending leak.
Frank Zappa’s Why Does It Hurt When I Pee would be a suitable request.
“It needs to be calming conversation”, he continues to tell me more then I need to know.
I regret noticing that he hadn’t peed this entire time. Here I was peeing long enough to have someone else enter the room, undress beyond the knickers, whip it out and unleash his own liquid mammoth. (Strange how descriptive I got with that paragraph).
I had it lucky. I can pee fast and instantly. Never did I consider when I get older how much of a hiatus I might have to wait when pees need to be freed.
“It all started with an odd excursion to Taiwan back in ’89”, was his excuse to his blocked urine.
You couldn’t ask for a better meeting to a longterm penpal who only writes in extreme detail about what every STD looks like.
But seriously, elder or not, don’t stand next to me when we’re peeing, man.