I decided to cruise on over to the food court at New Orleans Center for lunch. Hopefully, the hillarity of the previous pun will become evident as you read on. Anyway, after I had consumed a sizable styrofoam plate full of mediocre chinese food I began my post-lunch search for a restroom. I went to Macy’s and the center stall looked like that bathroom from Trainspotting so I turned tail and ran for the mall. I asked the clerk at Claires, Afterthoughts, Scribbles & Giggles or whatever the name of the “Accessory” store is where the closest men’s room was. She was new and didn’t know, but thought for sure the convention center would have one so I made my way over there.
Ahhhhhh, Peace and qui-
What’s that smacking sound in the stall across from mine?
I slowly tilt my head to peek through the crack to see what’s going on…
Um, hi… creepy unattractive old man looking back at me… masturbating.
One minute later… is he still looking at me? I tilt my head over.
A few moments of smacking passed, then his door creeked open, his shoes approached the door of my stall, and his eyes practically popped through the crack of my stall’s door. He is, by this time, “deep in thought” and beckoning me through the crack with his
swollen member finger. Finger. Finger. (If it’s in bold, it may come true.) Of course, the only thing I can think of is “please dont try to stick that through the door jam.” (No, not out loud.)
The front bathroom door opened and he scurried to his stall where the smacking continued under the sound of toilets being flushed one by one and the urinals being filled with ice by the cleaning crew. Smack. Smack. Smack.
I made a break for the sinks and washed my hands while behind me I heard the shoes that were under the adjacent stall’s door a moment ago coming closer. He quietly washed his hands in the sink next to mine, then followed me out the door and into the elevator where I nervously hit the button for the first floor. The elevator, of course, was going up. To the 15th floor. Everyone exits on 15 except for smacking man and myself. We then ride the longest, most awkward 12 floors in the history of elevators back to the third floor where he exited, looking me over and giving me the MmmHmmm look. I can only assume he swished back to the restroom.
Moral of the story. Long forgotten sites from Portal of Evil aren’t always full of shit.
(Not work safe.)