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 Supermarket SeepPosted 03.23.2006 by Nate W (10)
It was the morning of the 29th of October, a Saturday. The previous night we had spent partying with some fine-quality Seattle weirdoes; and, as usual, I drank a lot of beer. What can I say -- I have a taste for barley and hops. A good time was had by all. It was a mad and crazy night. Next morning dawned, hazy as only a hung-over morning-after can be, and our hosts The Lemkinator and his wife wanted to make breakfast for us all. Their breakfast creations are often as amusing as they are tasty... BUT ALAS! There were no eggs. I volunteered to drive to the Safeway and get some, as well as orange juice, since that was low, too. Khimaira tagged along for moral support.
The Safeway in Ballard, to the best of my knowledge, is unique among Safeways in that it has a parking garage below it and you access the store itself via elevator. My guess is that this is a concession to high property prices in that part of town. Nevertheless, I parked and we got in the elevator. About halfway up the elevator, disaster struck. "OH MY FUCKING GOD DUDE THE MOST HORRIBLE AND EMBARRASSING THING EVER JUST HAPPENED" I stammered as the elevator doors opened on a bustling supermarket scene. "What?" queried Khimaira. "I just shit myself," I said, ashen-faced. "I thought it was a fart..." "What are you gonna do?" replied my illustrious sidekick. "Well, I'm gonna make a bee-line for the bathroom and clean myself up, you ninny." I retorted. "What did you think I was going to do?" "I dunno. Run away?" he offered. This particular Safeway is not your ordinary supermarket. Oh no. This place is a SUPER DUPERMARKET, and as such covers several square miles; and the bathrooms are hidden in the farthest corner from anywhere. After searching for what seemed like hours (by this time the diarrhea on my leg was FREEZING), I found the bathroom and barricaded myself in there to clean up. Khimaira stood guard outside the door. Every couple of minutes someone would come and try the door and find it to be locked. I would think to myself, "I don't care how bad you gotta go, buddy, my situation is worse." I ended up throwing away one sock and my boxer shorts, cleaning myself from the waist down with hand towels and soft soap, and turning my pants inside-out to scrub as much debris out as I could. Grudgingly I put the pants back on -- still wet, as there was no electric hand dryer in this particular restroom. Upon opening the bathroom door I was confronted by a line of half-a-dozen old dudes in tartan hats and tweed jackets waiting their turn. Khimaira pointed out that double that had come and left during the fifteen or so minutes I was in there. As soon as I passed the line of oldsters, I looked to the sky, as if for divine inspiration. That day was my day to be visited by something, that's for sure; because when I looked up, the first thing I saw was the sign at the end of the grocery store aisle advertising "Incontinence." I laughed so hard I almost had to make a second trip into the bathroom. We got the eggs, the orange juice, and something else that I have forgotten, and skedaddled out of there, hoping nobody noticed that my pants were wet from the waist down on the left side. Arriving back at casa de Lemkinator, I told this story. He and his wife laughed heartily. And then he got all serious. "This story doesn't have to leave these walls," he said. "Screw that, dude!" was my response. "This one is too funny to keep to myself!" I showered and borrowed a pair of pants, and then sat down for breakfast. Now, Khimaira was too much of a pussy to take pictures while the whole thing was actually going on. He did, however, take a picture showing me in borrowed pants with only one sock. It's not the kind of photodocumentary I would have hoped for, but it will have to do for now. I have warned him sternly that if I ever shit myself in public again and he doesn't take pictures, I'll whoop him six ways from Sunday. Post new comment
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