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I was in a swanky downtown bar at a “speed dating” networking and summer job event. People were flowing from table to table listening to prospective employers pitch the merits of their company and their summer job and internship programs. There was everything from bullshit knife sales jobs to bullshit house painting positions. Overall, it was a lot of bullshit opportunities along with several seemingly not pyramid scheme-related jobs spiced in. I sat through pitch after pitch and it was going well. It should have been a simple task, and it was a simple task… until things took a fateful twist.
Throughout the night, I had been writing names of prospective employers, their phone numbers, their email addresses, and any other important information on a single sheet of paper that had been handed out at the beginning of the event. The organizer stressed the importance of getting contact information, and called this sheet our “Bible” for the night. I was being responsible. I was doing everything right. I wasn’t getting pulled in by the bullshit knife salesmen, and I evaded the pyramid schemes like Reggie Bush in his prime. I was filling my paper with a lot of great information and was genuinely excited for the future.
This is where things start to turn.
I had been drinking A LOT of water. This was my first mistake. It was my first time at one of these things, and I was nervous. When I get nervous, my mouth gets dry. And, since I’ve never been good at drinking in moderation, I was basically drinking water like a freshman drinks cheap vodka during syllabus week. I might as well have had a funnel. It was truly excessive.
So after a few hours of funneling liquids into my body, the event ended and I needed to use the bathroom badly. I scanned the bar, found the bathroom, and made my way inside. Bobbing and weaving through the crowd, my “Bible” was my football. Upon arriving at the urinal, I quickly realized this was going to be a process: I wouldn’t be able to quickly relieve myself while holding my notes, plus I was formally dressed. I was not about to piss all over my new suit, so I decided to tuck my sheet in between my chest and my chin so I could devote both hands to the leak. It was go time. The sheet was not in a great spot, but great athletes make great plays. I slowly realized that even in the sport of pissing, I am not a great athlete.
I began to relieve myself, and it was taking longer than expected (this was the first time anything related to my penis had lasted longer than expected).
This is when tragedy struck.
I could feel the piece of paper start to slip from its position. I pushed harder to try to finish faster, but this only expedited my problem. The paper was slipping faster and faster. I just couldn’t hold it. And… splat. The piece of paper with the important information that held the key to my future fluttered down like a lone snowflake on Christmas morning. It ended up landing in the center of the urinal, tucked right underneath the urinal cake. It was a beautiful tragedy. Shocked and unable to stop midstream, there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop, and my well-hydrated self pissed all over that sheet of paper in the most aggressive way possible. It was a golden shower too aggressive for the internet. I tried to aim in another direction, but my notes had landed ever so perfectly in the middle of the urinal; everything funneled toward it. There was nothing I could do.
I was shocked, saddened, and disappointed… and I wasn’t out of the woods just yet. A line had now formed behind me; others also waiting to relieve themselves. I was stuck with a lose-lose situation: either grab the thoroughly urine-soaked paper from the urinal, or face the awkwardness of the man behind me knowing exactly what had happened. I chose the latter. That paper stayed in the urinal as I walked out in shame. Fuck..
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