This story confronts acceptable norms between a two year old boy and a grown handsome blue eyed mustachioed man's encounter at a bus stop facilitated by skittles. Some guys are just nice, I'm a super nice guy.
I was waiting for the bus heading to the movies to meet a friend, we were going to see Pixar's Brave then sneak into a few other films. In fact I was sitting next to the Brave movie poster at the bus stop thinking to myself, "I'm about to see you in action." Relaxing in the warm SF sun, sporting a Tom Selleck mustache while eating skittles, a small child no older than two appeared out of nowhere and put his little kid hands on my thigh and said, "Hi." I looked at his hands, then my leg, then his eyes..."Sup little buddy, wanna sit down?" He thought for a sec almost as if he was pondering the legitimacy of the situation, "yes," he replied. You know that awkward moment when you're at a bus stop with a two year old stranger who you've just offered a seat to, when you notice he's way to small to get into it himself and he's expecting you to pick him up? Yeah, that's where I was. He lifted his arms and just stared at me, where are this kids parents!!!? I leaned forward, offered him some skittles as I peered around the corner looking for his parental supervision. Two year olds love skittles.
Here's a photo taken later in the day, would you let this dude entertain your kid with candy at a bus stop?
"I see her, I see your mom!" I said as I nodded confidently. He had taken all my skittles and was raising his arms again as his mother entered the bus stop. Her eyes finally met mine as I lifted her kid onto the bus stop seat. It must be strange to see your two year old son being picked up by a blue eyed mustachioed candy offering stranger at a bus stop, but she seemed so nonchalant. The next ten minutes we spent together was pretty cool; we counted to 10 a few times, learned colors, and came up with S words while munching on skittles. Creepy pedophile situation adverted, entertain a little kid mister Roger style...success! I was on my way to see Brave, Moonrise Kingdom and Ted. I had no intention seeing a newly released movie about strippers; instead I watched three movies, one about a little girl not wanting to get married, another about two small children running away from their lives together and a third one about a teddy bear after literally picking up a two year old at a bus stop. Some guys are just nice, I'm a super nice guy.
Being stalked on Craigslist is somehow flattering. If a guy were to post a message looking for a certain woman on Craigslist, society would deem him a bit strange. If it's a woman...she appears bold and confident
There should be a school house rock styled song for Craigslist to help people learn the boundaries of the site. I imagine it's somewhere between conjunction function and I'm just a bill. Either that or those are the only two songs I remember from the beloved child's series.Ā
It seems Craigslist is the answer for may of the everyday questions that nobody really wants to think about. For example, where do I find a nice apartment in the Hayes Valley neighborhood of San Francisco, what do I do with this old sofa, where can I find a used bike, who wants to trade me for my Pokemon cards, is it possible to trade a pile of used shirts for something way more awesome? Ok so that last one has me thinking...more to come on that in another post. I digress, so stalking a handsome blue eyed man who's got it going on. Spoiler alert I'm the handsome blue eyed man.Ā
I work in retail now, it's a super chill job. Months back we launched a new app which allows people to shop on their own terms. It's quite innovative and behind the times all at once, why are we the only ones really exploring this avenue of revenue? Essentially the app allows customers to buy most items in the store right from their iPhone. Occasionally it's my job to help push and teach people about this technology...really mundane stuff, I have the same conversations 50 times a day and despite most people being blown away; it gets OLD!!!Ā
I wanted to test the app so I used my customer interactions as my laboratory. The most successful demo I conjured up was to see who could finish a purchase faster; a customer newly empowered with the app or me a blue eyed handsome man equipped with the stores mobile point of sale system and hundreds of hours of experience using it. Embarrassingly I lost about 90% of the time. It's tough to not endorse an app that does something I'm not particularly fond of better and faster than me.Ā
...so this girl walks into my store and we chat about a case for her phone. Boring stuff like which one do I recommend, why are some hard and some soft, blah blah blah that's what she said, blah blah blah. Enter the app. I explain to her what it is, what it does and how everyone who has an iPhone is secretly a cashier. I do this so often I don't particularly remember the details of the conversation, but I bet it was awesome.Ā
Said girl leaves the store with a smile on her face and attraction in her heart. She caught the blue eyed handsome man bug, no worries it's common and the only side effects are increased productivity and confidence. This particular girl, Clarissa, decided that our banter and chemistry should travel from the confines of the store to the streets, bars and restaurants of San Francisco. So Clarissa did what any rational person did when they have a crush on a boy, a boy who's name and place of employment she knew; she put up an ad on Craigslist's missed connection board.Ā
Yeah Clarissa turned to Craigslist. Clarissa posted an ad full of wit and direct to the point, she painted a picture of herself as a confident and productive woman. The ad went like this: (I censored the name of my employer, I donāt need every woman looking for a handsome blue eyed man to stalk me)
Jake from the ***** *****
You challenged me to a race to see who could ring out items faster; you the handsome blue eyed man using your ***** ***** iPod credit card thingy and me, the cute brunette using my iPhone 4S. I won; and now I feel I should get a reward, dinner? It was awesome talking to you and we really hit it off. Maybe I'll just come in for a rematch...
Do people really ever check missed connections for themselves, is that the new Googling yourself? Are their millions of lonely Americans sitting at home scouring through the Missed Connections hoping somebody who shared a brief moment in their day with them posted about them on Craigslist? Do they consider posting one themselves about the attractive stranger they met earlier but was unable to trade phone numbers with? How many Missed Connections really get answered? Well, I know at least one did.
Only a few days after Clarissa took that leap of faith, a handful of my colleagues had found her ad. It spread through our store like wildfire, people were continuously asking if Iād seen it. At first I thought everyone was joking, playing a game on me. But then I saw it. Short and to the point. She wanted to meet up.
I do random things just for fun, I will do tons of things just for the experience and the story. Was meeting up with a Missed Connection from Craigslist beyond my comfort level? For the next few days I toyed with the thought of meeting up with this girl, where would we go, what would we do? In the mean time my colleagues had become really intrigued with the idea and continued to check in with me to see if there were any new developments. The debate whether or not I would contact Clarissa took some strange paths based on the thoughts and advice of a few of my colleagues. For example one suggested I just respond asking for nudes, another said I should set them up together (I donāt think he understood the situation) one even suggested we get everyone in the store to respond with different stories. Needless to say they were all silly and ridiculous, normally my sort of thing; right? Their efforts wore me down.
After a week or two I finally decided to contact her. I opted to offer her another challenge, a scavenger hunt if you will, where the prize is an awesome night with me. Ok, so saying it out loud sounds really pretentious but I had to make sure she wasnāt too psycho, we were using Craigslist as a medium to communicate after all.
Re: Jake from the ***** *****
Hey howās it going? Itās Jake from the ***** *****, this serendipitous moment is brought to us by Craigslist. Honesty...I must admit that I donāt remember you off of the top of my head. Racing people through transactions has become sort of a mainstay in my routine. In the spirit of trying new things letās make our first date different from every date weāve ever been on. I have an idea and if youāre up for a scavenger hunt text me @ 415 *** **** and letās see what happens.
I figured I just throw that out there and see what happens. Within a few hours I received a text, āIām down (Clarissa from Craigslist)āĀ
This is where the pressure came in. Now I really have to figure and plan out this date. She seemed like an outgoing A type personality girl and she should definitely be able to carry her own. We set a time and date for us to meet up, I explained to her that we were going to go on a scavenger hunt around the city where we would get to know each other through clues and quests one of us would send to the other. The trick was that neither of us could name specific places at anytime during the scavenger hunt nor could we ask for help from any of our friends or seek out answers on the internet. We spent an entire day running around the city conquering each others quests with the hope of learning more about the other person.
My first quest, āBring something with you from the best burrito place in town.āĀ
When Clarissa was done she texted me, āGot it, get a bag from the coolest store in the mall.ā Seriously, the coolest store in the mall? What a silly task; I went with a garbage bag, the enormous black bag seen draping every trash can in every mall everywhere. It wasnāt easy to get either I had to literally bribe a janitor lady to get it.
I replied, āBottle cap from your favorite beer.ā
Clarissa responds, āYummy, something that reminds you of your favorite pastime.ā Much, much better Clarissa...this one is easy; my Sambas because I love soccer.
Me: āA picture from the best view in the city.ā
Clarissa: āMUNI ticket from your favorite bus/train.ā I donāt have a favorite bus/train in the city and I donāt know anybody who does. I prefer to bike or skate, the only times I ride the MUNI is when the weather is bad or when Iām heading to trivia nights in the Sunset. I got a MUNI ticket for the N. There isnāt a way to distinguish between the MUNI tickets in SF so I cut it out in the shape of the letter N.
Me: āSomething representing the coolest place to hang out with friends on a beautiful lazy day.ā
Clarissa: āCD sleeve from your favorite band.ā Seriously, I donāt own any CDās, I donāt even remember the last one I bought. You have to admit that they are a dying form of media. I have tons of music but none on a CD. Iām not even sure if I have a favorite band anymore, but in the spirit of the game I decided to use the album photo on whatever song popped up on my iPod...Michael Jacksonās Thriller 25 Super Deluxe Edition it is.
Me: āA fruit and vegetable from your go to produce market/grocery store/farmers market.ā
We met up, let me share Clarissaās treasure from our scavenger hunt.
-Burrito: She went with a Papalote napkin. OK granted they do have really good salsa, but burritos...Hell no! Not even top 10 in their own neighborhood. She let me down right off the bat. My answer; Taqueria Cancun, SF Taqueria or El Farolito all would have been much better answers.
-Favorite beer: Heineken, I remember my heart sinking, what have I gotten into? There are literally thousands of answers that could go here, but there is no way I would have ever guessed Heineken can be someones favorite beer of all time.
-Best view in the city: A picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. So as lame as saying the GG Bridge is your favorite view in the city is, at least it wasnāt a store in the mall or a view of one of the cable cars. The GG Bridge and cable cars are truly awesome and are San Francisco icons but nobody who lives here would say they were their absolute favorite views of the city. My answer; I would have picked one of the views atop of the many many hills we have in the area, Twin Peaks, Corona Heights, Hawk Hill or Bernal Heights.
-Something representing the coolest place to hang out with friends on a beautiful lazy day: A Ritual Coffee cup...itās beautiful outside, you have nothing important to do, you go hang out in a cafe? I was thinking two champaign flutes, orange juice and a bottle of cheap champaign. Memosas in Dolores Park, what a fantastic way to spend a beautiful lazy day.Ā
-A fruit and vegetable from your go to produce market/grocery store/farmers market: Clarissa picked up strawberries and an avocado from Whole Foods. Those are great picks from a pretty decent grocery store.Ā
Clarissaās answers to her questions:
-Bag from the coolest store in the mall: H&M
-Something that reminds you of your favorite pastime: High heel dancing shoes, they didnāt look comfortable.
-MUNI ticket from your favorite bus/train: the 24, I appreciate her thought on this one, the 24 travels through more neighborhoods in SF than any other Muni. I wish I was clever enough to think of the 24.
-CD sleeve from your favorite band: Glee, holy crap! This whole time I thought Glee was a TV show.Ā
-Favorite dessert in the city: Three twins ice cream, I'm not an ice cream kind of guy but not a bad place to have on your favorites list.Ā
A fantastic date idea with an interesting backstory turned dry and bland. It was evident that Clarissa and I didnāt really hit it off. Sheās a great girl...just a great girl for someone else. In a world of readily available mass information we used a Craigslist missed connection to learn more about each other than in a way more interactive and exciting way than anything either of us have tried.Ā
Ā wall in the pool, made my turn, and pushed off again...the back of my speedo slipped revealing my backside, instantly I knew what I had to do.
Earlier in training my team and I formed a list of things that we thought would be funny to get away with, these were things that the team couldnāt get mad at you for successfully completing no matter how much trouble it got all of us into; when attempting something on the list you had full support of the team. These were things like: sneaking a girl into your room, hitting on an instructors daughter (bonus points if she was the girl you snuck into your room), or challenging an instructor to a physical challenge and winning. I canāt really remember the entirety of the list, but at this moment, in that pool one item stood out...I was going to moon an instructor.
Luckily, one of our prestigious super hero noncommissioned officers (NCO) was sitting facing my lane line. This situation couldnāt have been better set up if I tried. First thing I had to do was get the attention of my team, again due to being forced to swim on our side using only our legs to propel us through the water, it was pretty simple to use the next 50 meters to let as many as possible know what I was about to attempt.
Checking a list item off wasnāt as simple as saying you did it, you had to get witnesses. For the next 50 meters I was franticly signaling everyone in eyesight to watch the awesome feat that I was about to accomplish. Most of the team slowed down and positioned themselves about five meters or so behind me so they could see our hero of an NCOās face after I pushed off the wall exposing my pale backside to him.Ā
I wasnāt even nervous, I think the comfort level that we as a team had established had made me feel invincible at this point. I had no thought of recourse; to be honest the likelihood that he would even look up from his paper seemed like a very small percentage. As I reached the end of a very anticipated 50 meters I grabbed the wall took a deep breath and pushed off the wall as hard as my legs let me, as soon as my speedo slipped back again I made sure my butt was out of the water and in plain sight of our heroic PJ. I slumped my butt back into the water turned to my side and pulled my speedo back up, I kept looking to my team to see their reactions but they were far enough behind me that I could barely see their hands as kicked their way through the water. That was good news to me; nobody was pulled out of the pool, which to me meant that I had gotten away with my mooning escapade.
I was going to have to get to another wall to see their faces; I swam pretty hard that next 25 meters laughing to myself. I was just inches from the wall, inches from turning around and seeing the looks on my teams faces, inches from smiling another 25 meters of a rather long and boring 4000 meter swim; when out of nowhere a hand reached down and yanked me out of the pool.Ā
This wasnāt just an ordinary grab and pull, this was the sort of yank that Moms do when their child is in trouble, a yank that you read about in comic books or see in super hero movies. It took no time at all for our special forces NCO to pull me from the water. Now my memory is a bit cloudy of this moment in time because I was so shocked, but how I remember it, I was just dangling there as he held me by my wrist with his arm fully extended.
I guess this is as good a time as any to explain our required uniform for this event. I like to think aerodynamics played a role in the intent behind these uniforms but sadly after this story I feel it was a test of willingness to do whatever was asked of you.Ā
Weāll start at the top and work our way down. Every weekend we had to make sure that we all had the same haircuts at this point in training we each had very short militant haircuts thanks to a few balding team members. We wore diving masks that covered our eyes and noses, Air Force PT shirts whose only requirement besides uniformity among the team was that we couldnāt show our bellybutton. (As ridiculous as that sounds it was necessary to specify, mine was a childās extra small that one of the bigger guys helped me stretch out to reach the required length below my bellybutton.) We wore black speedos, black diving booties and diving fins.Ā
Now Iām sure you can imagine a handful of 18-30 year olds running around a military installation wearing such embarrassing uniforms. The best part was, at the time we all thought we looked badass. And to be fair we did, its hard no to look buff when you workout at the gym, pool, and track 50 hours a week for 6 months. No matter what you wear and no matter what hairstyle is forced on you, you just feel confident, misplaced or not, you feel confident. Besides I always have my blue eyes. There were some events in the pool that required us to use snorkels so we always had one close to us, but one wasnāt needed for this two and a half mile swim.
Let me bring you back to the situation, so no kidding there I was in my flattering military/Rocky Horror Picture Show uniform dangling by my left wrist from my instructors raised arm; the fins on my feet barely touching the pool deck. I finally snapped out of the shock and was staring this super hero of an NCO in the eyes and he asked me, āDid you just moon me?ā A huge smile broke over my face and I shouted out the standard response for yes in this course...āHOO-YAH SERGEANT!ā I could hear my team laughing and shouting back, āHOO-YAH CASTRO!ā He didnāt smile; this was the first time that I thought I was going to be murdered, thank God I had so many witnesses.Ā
He finally let me go and I snapped to attention on the pool deck using the sharpest military movements I could. I think I really caught him off guard; he sat there and thought for a few moments on punishment. (On of the greatest things in this training program was that punishment was meant to make you stronger or embarrass you, not to put any sort of negative marks on your military career.) āLoose the fins, grab a snorkel youāve got five seconds.āĀ
Well I didnāt make that timeline. Before I knew it I was doing flutter kicks on the pool deck with a mask full of water making it nearly impossible to breath since my nose was in that mask and my mouth wasnāt. (Like waterboarding but at a kindergartners level.) This wasnāt anything new to me; since weāve been through this before and I like to think I mastered the art of breathing, staying calm, and counting out loud, as rudimentary as that sounds itās a tough skill to master.Ā
My instructor didnāt like that so much, āCastro get up and put your fins on your hands, snorkel in your mouth, mask on and run around the pool quacking like a duck!ā
Simple, right? This was going to be one of the easiest forms of punishment Iāve ever had, or so I thought at the time. In retrospect perhaps less smiling and more looks of shame would have been better...but for this stories sake Iām glad I was smiling. After a few laps around the pool quacking like a duck and being laughed at by my teammates, my instructor finally started to find the humor in the event. One more round of flutter kicks on the pool deck with my mask full of water wouldnāt be complete without a Gatorade water cooler full of ice and very little water pored on my chest, that part actually sucked as it took my breath away. āCastro get up!ā
He pointed to a basic training chow hall on the other side of a field, instructed me to run through it quacking like a duck. Of course he meant with my fins on my hands, arms flapping, mask on, snorkel in my mouth, skin tight childās extra small t-shirt, speedo, and booties on. With a smile on my face I sprinted across the field on my way, flapping my arms and quacking like a duck. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap (My quacking was severely muffled by the snorkel in my mouth.) I hear my instructor shout, āHurry and come back!ā
When I reached the chow hall there were lines of newly enlisted men and women standing at the position of attention diligently waiting to be called into the building for a warm delicious meal. I flew past them, none of them breaking their composure. I kicked the push handle of the entrance door, it flew open and I ran through the line flapping my arms and quacking like a duck, āQuack, Quack, Quack!ā Again nobody took their eyes off the back of the personās head ahead of them. I made my way to the serving line, turned sideways and wiggled my way into the main dining hall. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā I continued to shout while flapping my arms. As I turned the corner I saw something that I didnāt anticipate.Ā
The Snake Pit...The Snake Pit was where all the TIs sat and ate their meals; it was also one of the most embarrassing and harassing things about basic training. Everyday they would belittle each person they could. I had been in front of them before when I was in basic training and I knew that I had to pick up the pace and make my way out of there before the proverbial shit hit the fan.
āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. About 15 feet from the Snake Pit, a table of the most intimidating military TIs looked up at me. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. To my right was another push door, I looked around to see hundreds of little Airman raising their heads in unison and finally taking notice of my antics. A few tried to maintain āproper military bearingā and not laugh but some couldnāt help it. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. I turned the corner and sprinted for the push door. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. I looked over my shoulder and saw four TIs grabbing their traditional brimmed hats, stumbling over chairs, frantically trying to catch up with me. There was no chance, I was one of the fastest guys on my team, I could run three miles under 18 minutes which I was sure was about five minutes faster than these guys donned in their camouflage uniforms. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. I kicked the push door out; it flew open and this time around the entire group of future Airmen standing outside noticed me, the area erupted in laughter.Ā
No time to stop now I had some evading to do. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. Finally out of the chow hall I could see the pool, my teammates, and my super hero of an instructor waiting for me at the other side of a field. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. I took another glance over my shoulder to see the TIs were gaining ground on me. I wasted too much time opening the door and consequently it stayed open for them.Ā
āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. Just another 100 yards, I channeled my inner Usain Bolt and ran as fast as I could. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. The mask on my face was forcing me to breath through my mouth, but now my mask was fogging up as I was approaching my instructor.
My instructor had now dawned his Scarlet Beret, (a sign of badassedness in the military, especially the Air Force) and was standing there in his best superman pose with his hands in the shape of fists resting on his hips, his elbows and chest bowed out, and neck extended.Ā
āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. When I got close to him he reached out and pulled me in behind him, in one smooth and swift motion. The same dude who I thought was going to murder me earlier was now here to save my life. I couldnāt help but feel a father son bond with this superman of an NCO, this treatment made me revert to a 10 year old. Iām serious I was standing behind him, peeking around him excited to watch the can of whoop ass about to be unleashed on these TIs. āQuack, Quack, Quack,ā flap, flap, flap. āShut up Castro,ā he said. Now that sounds more like something my Dad would say.
The TIs finally caught up, all of them bent over from exhaustion struggling to form a sentence that made some sense, āSpeedo, belly shirt, chow hall,ā one of them muttered while pointing at me. I swear I thought one of them was going to keel over and die from a heart attack, I donāt think any of these guys have ever ran so hard. If they had Iām sure it wasnāt after an 18 year old kid dressed in a speedo and a belly shirt flapping his arms and quacking like a duck, if it were a Navy base maybe they would have.Ā
Not so intimidating now, I thought in my head as I looked at the TIs bent over struggling for air.
What happened next is no joke, my Jedi of an NCO took his left hand off his hip, waved his open palm facing them, and said; āHeās with me, carry on with your day.ā And like a bunch of Storm Troopers from one of the Star War movies, they said OK and walked away. I think my jaw might have hit the ground; there was no way it could be that simple. Iāve tried the Jedi mind trick countless times since, all of which have been unsuccessful. Iāve come to the conclusion that it was a fluke. There is no way that the Jedi mind trick should have worked there. I wonder if he knew if that would work or not, perhaps it was the confidence that was oozing out of his pores, but that day, at that moment I was saved by a Jedi Knight.
On our way back to join the rest of my team he asked if Iād heard him say, āHey wait come back.ā Suddenly things made more sense, he didnāt yell for me to hurry and come back, he tried stopping me before I made the two of us look like idiots. I just shook my head and said, āNo.ā We agreed not to tell anybody about the event until both of us were out of that command for obvious reasons.
A couple of months later, after my team and I had graduated, a 100 more recruits had just shown up, and it was my task to show them around the annex we lived on. I had to answer all of their questions and help them settle into a life outside of basic training and into bad ass training.
One of the new recruits kept telling this story of when he was eating lunch one day in basic training, he saw a half naked man running through the main dinning hall shouting, āFuck, Fuck, Fuck,ā all while waving his arms like a crazed maniac. (Iām not sure if he was talking about me or not because he never mentioned seeing beautiful blue eyes.) Later his TIs assured his flight that, that sort of disrespectful behavior had no place in todayās Air Force. That particular maniac will be kicked out of the service and will have such a black mark on his record that no business would ever want to employ such a deviant. Other recruits were chiming in on how they heard that particular āmaniacā had to be psychologically evaluated, there were rumors of drug and alcohol use, and even one who believed that it was staged just to instill fear in the newly enlisted men and women of the Air Force.Ā
I suddenly felt immortal, I was already a legend among my team and word was quickly spreading through our training pipeline that somebody got away with one of the most legendary feats of all time...I donāt think anybody has yet to top that. And now TIās in that particular flight are telling my tale. I was only seven or eight months into a six-year enlistment and Iād already reached cult like fame. The new recruits were still discussing the rumors when one of my teammates stopped them. He was about to expose the identity of their ācrazed maniac,ā when I just smiled at the guys, flapped my arms and said, āQuack, Quack, Quack!ā
As long as I can remember Iāve always been popular among men. There have been many debates on why, but nobody has been able to truly explain why. Maybe I put out a vibe, maybe men are just more forward than women about handsomeness.Ā
I often forget that people are attracted to the same sex...or opposite sex for that matter. The results of my forgetfulness tends to leave me in situations with gay men who mistake my friendliness for flirting.Ā
Some people just deserve to be punched in the face, but sometimes when met with the opportunity to open a can of whoop-ass appropriately you are overcome by shock and awkwardness.Ā
One of my closest friends, Bob-O, and I were partaking in anti-prohibition at a bar we can be considered regulars at. Bob-O lives across the street, weāre there quite often. The night started our just like any other night, we walked in to cheers and hellos. After the normal round of hugs we nestled up to the bar in our usual manner.Ā
We always have a blast in Noeās, we reminisce about old stories, tell new ones and usually discuss the US Mens Soccer Team. The beer is always flowing and occasionally shots appear. A few cans, pints and bottles into the night I found myself in need of a visit to the bathroom.Ā
For years social guys like myself have accepted the social standard of quietness and the antisocial atmosphere of the menās room. Men donāt go in pairs, there is no continuation of conversation nor is the menās room a place men go to strategize about women they just met at the current establishment. Instead menās rooms are places of communist like gatherings, you just go in take care of business and leave; no eye contact and especially no words unless itās with the attendant...and even then you have to tip him. Occasionally you break the rules and have a quick chat or more likely ask a rhetorical question. For me, when someone chats it up in there I always chat back. I like to converse and so far in life random conversations have yet to let me down.
This particular night, however, had another outcome in mind. When I walked into Noeās menās room that night I found myself followed by another guy. Nothing unusual about that, no strange occasion. Iām sad to admit that the normality of the night ended right there, the closing of that menās room door on this particular night symbolized the final normal event of the night.
Public bathrooms arenāt supposed to be a hot place to hookup. There is only one thing someone should sit on in there, and itās made of porcelain not flesh. Thanks to George Michael and Minneapolis-Saint Paul airportās Larry Craig Stall, exposing yourself in a bathroom has lost its tabooness and has even evolved. It would seem as if public bathrooms are taking over as the easiest place to hookup.Ā
The short, balding, blond man who followed me into the bathroom of one of my favorite bars in the world preyed on my weakness; conversation. I have no clue what we were chatting about, and in retrospect it seems pointless. Me standing over the urinal, him standing over the toilet we were engaged in conversation with just a stall divider separating us.Ā
If relieving yourself was a race, I had won! I shook for an appropriate amount of time and washed my hands for an appropriate amount of time all while still engaged in meaningless conversation with a short balding stranger in the menās room. As I was drying my hands it hit me, this is why we donāt chat it up in bathrooms! We donāt go in pairs and we donāt leave in pairs. I was ready to make my exit, but like Rumsfield and Bush I failed to plan my exit and now exiting unnoticed had become impossible.Ā
I awkwardly waited for him to finish his sentence, and finally butting in to tell him I was heading back to the bar to drink with my buddies. I invited him to join us if he wanted and we could continue the conversation somewhere where we werenāt touching ourselves.Ā
Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it. Let me recount the only part of the conversation I remember.
Me: Yeah thatās cool dude. Iām gonna head back to the bar and have some more drinks with my buddies. You can join us if you want, we can continue this conversation somewhere where we arenāt touching ourselves.Ā
Short balding guy: Haha that soundās like one way to continue the night; hold on just a sec.
Me: Uhhh yeah sureĀ
The short balding guy was stepping out of the stall almost immediately, wiping his hands on his shirt
Short balding guy: Itās nice to meet you
Me: Yeah you too
He approached me with his hand out ready for a handshake...or so it seemed. What happened next has scarred me for life. To this day I make someone guard the door when I go into than menās room. Instead of reaching for my hand, his hand found itās way to my plums. He hand was full of my boys, both resting in his palm like Chinese Boading Balls. His hand just resting in full grip of my testicles. Shock had taken over my body and mind. What am I supposed to do?
In retrospect itās easy to come up with ideas about what should have happened following my molestation. For example, the obvious punch to the face and the preceding can of whoop-ass would have been appropriate. But that didnāt happen. Even a turn of the head and cough would have lightened up the situation a bit. Nor did that happen. I could have said many things like:
Thatās not the hand drier.
The paper towels are around back.
Donāt touch those, theyāre my only pair.
If I were to even have pulled his hand off my jewels, I think I would have been satisfied. I figure when something like this is thrusted on you, you have two options; violence or comedy. Unfortunately a violent nor a comedic response was the way I instinctually responded. My fists slid up my ribcage, resting in my armpits while my elbows raised above my head. Our eyes were still locked together, I was finally able to break the gaze as I shamefully peered into the mirror. āOh, Oh, O, OK,ā was all I could manage to say. I walked away escaping what was one of the most important lessons Iāve ever learned. Men DO NOT talk in restrooms, EVER!
I stumbled out and made my way to Bob-O. I confided in him about my recent menās room molestation, my restroom fondle, the bathroom horror story. He busted out in laughter and disbelief! Imagine that confiding in one of your best friends about an attempted rape scenario where your most private of parts took center stage, and he laughed in disbelief. That bastard! Within seconds the short balding molesting toilet casanova had made his way to my stool. Shit...he rubbed my back and winked. Bob-Oās jaw dropped, āOh SHIT,ā he proclaimed, āthat happened!āĀ
The rest of the night became strange, nothing normal happened the rest of the night. I successfully avoided the molesting toilet casanova but not his winks.Ā
I even met a lady who recognized one of my tattoos, Bob-Oās neighborās mother. She ended up crying on my shoulder recounting a story about how my stepfather helped get her son in rehab. As I was comforting my best friends neighbors mother I couldnāt help but wonder how my night had gone from an optimistic night out, to being molested, to comforting a lady about my stepfathers passing.Ā
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