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Jun
5

Whatcha doin’?

(originally posted 12/22/2014)

 

There’s really no way to tell this story where I don’t come off looking like an asshole and to some degree that makes telling it a lot easier. I could tell you that I’m not proud of my behavior but instead I’d like to focus on some possible explanations.

The behavior I’m alluding to?

Let me preface it by saying that I was having a perfectly normal day. There had been no stressful encounters leading up to the incident and I had entered the little gathering of friends only an hour beforehand completely at ease and looking forward to a pleasant evening.

I felt the need to relieve myself and entered the bathroom both sober and in high spirits.

I closed the door behind me and just as I was about to unzip and start the proceedings a little plastic snowman holding a plunger, hidden amidst bowls of potpourri and little soaps in the shape of clams and bottles of hand sanitizers, let loose with a loud “Whatcha doin’?”

It startled me.

I was not expecting it.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, instead of being startled and leaving it at that, I lifted my leg and after letting out a small roar, did a side kick into the would-be-humorous motion-activated snowman. There was nowhere for the snowman to go. With only tile-coated drywall behind it to absorb the impact it immediately exploded into what seemed to be dozens of fragments. It broke apart with such enthusiasm it led me to believe for a moment that Fabergé had, without fanfare, gotten into the business of would-be-humorous motion-activated novelty products.

Before I launch into a defense of this rather unprovoked outburst let me first admit that my Bruce Lee-esque side kick was not the end of said outburst. In fact, I’m sorry to report that it was only the beginning.

Upset that I was startled by such a poorly made holiday decoration I then let fly another kick, more of a stomp if truth be told, at the defenseless hand sanitizer. It put up about the same resistance as the snowman and threw its contents all over the sink and mirror and me.

Which pissed me the fuck off.

I grabbed the hapless bowl of potpourri and, with a thunderous yawp, hurled it across the tight confines of the bathroom and into the toilet. The sound of the ceramic-on-ceramic impact bordered on ear-shattering.

It’s at this point I should mention that the foot that had only seconds before been involved in dispatching the hand sanitizer was just now coming back to earth and been given new instructions to pivot and become a weight-bearing entity.

It’s at this next point I should remind you that hand sanitizer is very slippery. And that it was coating that same foot.

For reasons that are even less comprehensible than my original reaction to being startled, it had been my intention to punch the mirror. Why? I have no idea. I bore no ill will towards the hosts of this gathering and when I went in to pee I had no intentions of destroying their bathroom. Be that as it may, I was just about to punch their mirror when my foot, due to the aforementioned slipperiness, decided to abandon the plan to support my weight and instead headed for points south. This treachery resulted in my twisting and flopping and whirling in such a manner that my head hit the metal toilet roll holder in such a way that after my head finished its journey to the cold floor it left a good chunk of head still clinging to the metal toilet roll holder.

That started the red stuff flowing.

I realize that if I describe the sound that my lungs then produced as a thunderous yelp it might confuse you but that’s exactly what left my lips. A sound equal parts yelp and thunder.

That’s when I heard it. The voice on the other side of the door. Asking me a simple question …

“Whatcha doin’?”

It was at that moment I decided to pull the toilet out of the floor.

To the partygoers gathered outside the other side of the door I’m sure what they heard next was more of a bellow than a shout, although to be fair I think folks from below the Mason-Dixon line might get away with describing it as a holler, but whatever it was it convinced them that immediate action was required and they began to try to break down the door.

When you pull a toilet up out of the floor water really does come fountaining up. It was the first time during the entire bathroom incident that I can remember feeling any satisfaction.

The truth is, or at least the truth as I explained it to my shocked and deeply dismayed hosts, that if you insist on inserting plastic snowmen in your bathrooms for the express purpose of terrorizing the occupants of said bathroom you have to expect some collateral damage.

It’s at this juncture that you might be waiting to hear some possible explanations. I advertised these explanations early on so it’s a reasonable request on your part.

It might be that in third grade Mike Sanchez pinned me down at recess and shoved a snowball in my pants.

It might be that when I owned my first apartment I got overcharged by an unscrupulous plumber.

It might have something to do with that reoccurring dream I have where an unscrupulous plumber shoves a snowball up my ass.

Who knows. It might be that I don’t enjoy holiday parties as much as other people do.

The subconscious is a funny thing.

I have thirteen stitches in my scalp and an expensive trip to Home Depot that will testify to that.

 

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