Having nothing of note to say today, I hand over the reigns of creative writing to my friend and coworker who shall go by his random stripper name, Blaze Lusty Tush. Enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving.

When You Gotta Go...

One Sunday afternoon I went into a downtown fast food restaurant to pick up a couple of lunch orders for me and two coworkers. When I entered the establishment, let's call it Blendy's, a young gentleman was standing in the hallway off to the right of the line. This is a normal occurrence at Blendy's, but what I witnessed next I have never seen before and will probably never see again.

The young man was in his late teens to early twenties, about 5'8" and wearing jeans so loose that you could fit two people in them. What piqued my interest was the fact the lad was grasping the back of his blue jeans in his right hand, pacing frantically around Blendy's. His nervous gait slipping into a slow jog as he went to the men's restroom door and rapped frantically upon it. Then the whole restaurant heard the reason for his urgency.

"Sir! I have to shit!! Please, Sir! I'm going to shit my f*cking pants!" I looked with sheer amazement at the other people in line and waited for a response. The reaction was just as you'd expect...nervous silence. I also thought to myself that the young man was using his manners by saying "Sir". Just as I was about to laugh out loud, I saw the young man sprint back to his table and ask the other young fellow he was with, "How long does it take to wash your f*ckin' hands? Jesus Christ!" He then returned quickly back to the restroom door and began to pound loudly.

"Sir! I really have to f*cking shit!" By now panic started to set in, the look of helplessness was priceless. At this point, cold sweat we have all felt at one time or another had begun to leak out of his pores. "I drank way too much last night. Please SIR!!" He stared at his audience--the entire restaurant--waiting for somebody to help him somehow.

Blendy's became silent. Even the employees stopped filling orders. The whole place was caught in this web of drama...the suspense palpable. I secretly was hoping it would last. Thoughts I never would have pondered in a fast food line entered my mind like, "If I see shit run out of his pant leg, will I throw up?" or "Maybe I should just tell him to use the lady's room."

Finally a welcomed noise entered our ear space--the familiar click of a door unlocking. The kid ran into the hallway and busted into the bathroom even though the patron still had his hand on the knob. This was an elderly gentleman, stricken with curvature of the spine and body odor. He slowly, and I mean sloooowly, walked over to his group of old men friends and said loudly, "He must really have to shit." Well put old man. Well put.