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Ed. Note: I read this piece on Hemwingway’s early journalism career the other day and felt inspired to put a little more character and a little more story, more substance, into our news pieces. A drunk guy peeing off a balcony seemed like the perfect place to start. – Bacon.
The warm Hawaiian night was mostly still, save for a slight breeze rolling past the shore and through the trees, as the many occupants of the Waikiki Sheraton, holiday refugees fleeing the unpleasantness of the winters and cold, icy precipitate back home, slumbered through the late hour. Their escape to milder climate would not, though, keep them free from unpleasant precipitate, and the rustling palm trees were not the only disturbance in the night.
The Boise State University football team now returned to their lodging at the Sheraton after the night’s island jaunt, raucously celebrating their arrival to Oʻahu, the middle sized Hawaiian island hosting a middle-tier bowl to be played in by the mid-major team, though their celebration may have been more in honor of their departure from Boise than their arrival to the island. The players stumbled through the lobby, their joviality apparent as a burly guard cartoonishly mimicked coitus with an innocent and non-consenting plant half his size while two defensive backs ran in winding pursuit of one another, perhaps the most athletic game of grab ass to have ever been played.
On a balcony several stories above the hotel grounds stood a drunken young man, swaying like the palms below him. He faced the dark, expansive Pacific Ocean, far too drunk to properly articulate an appreciation for the mighty sea’s grandeur, though he was entranced by the waters, and muttered to himself, “Fuck me. That’s a big ocean.”
Momentarily, the young man’s hypnotic fascination with the natural wonder was interrupted by another call of nature. The night’s imbibing had caught up to him and relief was in short order. The man looked back out at the ocean once more and again its expanse entranced him. The undeniable beauty of the water and the island and the atmosphere amazed him in his simplified state and put upon him the weight of existence itself. Overcome with a true sense of being in that moment, and unwilling to abandon a feeling so glorious that surely it was fleeting, the young man whipped out his dick and began to pee of the balcony, eyes ever affixed upon the Pacific, unwilling to yield their gaze upon the magnificent.
“What the hell?”
“Where’d that come from?”
“Which room is that?”
A small commotion on the grounds below broke the stillness of the night but did nothing to break the young man’s focus, or his stream, which flowed powerfully out towards the ocean, though falling well short, and upon the staff and guests below instead.
“Fuck you, sharks,” the young man inexplicably spat, apparently now intending to offend the ocean’s deadliest inhabitants with his impromptu piss, though, in reality, he was offending the various parties below him on which he was urinating.
Finished relieving himself, the young man stood out on the balcony for several more moments. He stared into the dark blue vastness, continuing to believe the scene had made him profoundly aware, though he was at the same time unaware that his penis was still hanging fully out, through his open zipper as well as between the railings of the balcony, and the ocean breeze blew across it, whistling past his shaft and rustling the pubes as if the young man’s member were another palm tree on the island.
Content with the perspective and images he had collected in his memory, finally the still fully exposed young man turned to leave the balcony and retreat to his room. First, though, he turned back toward the ocean, gave it one last look, and then a point, inspired by some sort of camaraderie he now felt with the Pacific, born of the moment which had just passed. The ocean continued to churn softly and splash against the beach. The young man looked down and realized his dick was still hanging out.
The young man put away his dick and went inside to sleep. The warm tropical night was still again, save for a few roaming hotel staff members seeking out the balcony from which a drunk young man’s pee rained down onto the hotel grounds.
“This is bullshit!” a young man shouted at the Coach.
Joe Southwick, the senior quarterback of the Broncos was livid. His breathless insistence was the sort to be expected from a young man falsely accused and convicted of taking out his wiener in public and peeing haphazardly from his hotel balcony, making no distinction between what was and what was not an appropriate toilet.
“We’re puttin’ ya’ on a flight home, Joe. You’re suspended,” the Coach informed his player flatly. “You know what you did, and there’s no sense in denyin’ it. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is.”
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t piss off my balcony,” the quarterback pleaded.
The prospect of watching the last game of his career started by another quarterback had become a reality, which was the product of what he insisted was a case of mistaken identity. The injustice of it all unhinged the quarterback.
“Fuck you! FUCK this! This is fucking bullshit! I didn’t do shit! It was him!”
The quarterback pointed an accusing finger across the room at another player.
“I saw him. I saw his dick waving around on the balcony, peein’ all over the place.”
The player across the room deflected the accusation, and whether or not he was the party guilty of going pee pee where he wasn’t supposed to was irrelevant, his calm demeanor juxtaposed with the quarterback’s free-flying rage was all the evidence the Coach needed, or was willing to consider at that point.
A young man sat in a cold chair, eagerly awaiting an appointment. The sterility and chill of the room made the young man anxious. His anxiety compounded itself. Knowing that he was becoming anxious increased his anxiety. He needed to remain calm in order to pass the polygraph test he had scheduled for himself. Anxiety was sure to skew the results and reinforce the false accusations levied against him. Joe Southwick, the recently deposed quarterback of the Boise State University Broncos, was there to prove definitively that he was an innocent man. He was there to prove he did not drunkenly whip out his dong and pee off the balcony of his hotel room in Hawaii. He was there to seek justice.
The technician came through the door and walked directly to the chair behind the polygraph machine before acknowledging the young man. Like everything else about the room there was a blandness and a chill to her. After tinkering with the machine for a moment, adjustments for the sake of maintenance, the technician finally looked up and greeted Joe with routine professionalism. Joe responded in kind. He began to mentally prepare himself for the test but was interrupted by the test itself.
“Did you urinate off of your hotel balcony in Hawaii?” the technician asked coldly.
The suddenness of the question shocked Joe and he gave an answer as quickly as the question was delivered.
Joe’s eyes shot to the polygraph needle. It scribbled some and then more once it began to read Joe’s reaction to the machine’s assessment of his answer.
The room was silent except for the scratch of needle on paper. Joe was unsure if the polygraph technician had even let out a breath. The stillness overwhelmed him.
“You passed. Congratulations.”
The polygraph technician left her seat and the room. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. He did not take out his dick and piss from his hotel balcony. He knew that he had handled himself and his penis appropriately and now the world would, too. Reinstatement to the team was not certain and seemed unlikely, but Joe felt a slight vindication. That would have to do.