Tuesday, May 28, 2013

A Post About Talking to Animals and Getting Peed On

The scene of the crime.











If there is one thing that unites everybody in the world, it is the fact that we all have to drink water to survive.

If there are two things that unite everybody in the world, they are the fact that we all have to drink water to survive and eventually, through the hard work of our endocrine systems, pee it out. 

But if there are three things that unite everybody in the world, they are 1) drinking water 2) eventually peeing it out with the help of our 1-2 functioning kidneys and 3) being peed on. We have all had the experience of being peed on, whether it be willingly or unwillingly. And it's time to finally talk about it. 

Mom, Dad, everybody else, I've been peed on. Here is my story.

Last year, I was visiting the Bronx Zoo. If you know me personally, you are probably aware that nothing makes me happier than talking to animals. I talk to horses. I talk to cows. I talk to cats. I talk to spitting cobras. I talk to regular cobras. I talk to ring-tailed mongooses. So, going to the zoo for me is like, to quote the immortal bard SpongeBob Squarepants, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE." 

You can imagine how quickly my day went downhill after I got peed on by the grossest animal there. It wasn't a lion. It wasn't a tiger. It wasn't an opaki or a giraffe or even a pygmy marmoset. 

It was a person. 

I was in the women's bathroom, sitting on the toilet, like you do if you aren't a complete and utter piece of shit or a man. There was nothing strange about the way I was sitting. My foot was just there, directly in front of me, hanging out, doing what feet do. And suddenly, the complete and utter piece of shit in the stall next to me did the thing that I rank as number two in the list of things that horrible people do. 

The list goes like this:

1. Genocide.
2. Hover pissing.

Hover pissing, if you are not aware of the term, is when women don't sit all the way down to pee. 

The woman in the stall next to me hover pissed, and in the process of trying not to get icky germs all over her pristine and angelic butt cheeks, PISSED ALL OVER MY FOOT. Not just a few drops here and there, but more like if someone had left a can of Coke in her car on a hot day to get nice and warm, opened it, and dumped the whole thing on my foot. On that day, I talked to many, many animals, but only one got called the c-word. And while I normally do not advocate use of the c-word in casual conversation, if anyone deserved it, she did.

If I could have boiled my foot right then, I would have. Instead, I took off my shoe and stuck my foot under the tap for several minutes. I got a lot of weird looks. And it is important to note, that the person in the stall didn't come out until I left, so I couldn't yell at her face to face. At least she understood that she had a reason to be ashamed of herself.

Now, rewind my life about ten years and we'll get to the last time I was peed on.

It was winter. And because it was winter, it was a very cold, unpleasant day. In addition to it being a cold, unpleasant winter day, it was also calving season. And on the farm that means being outside almost all the time on a cold, unpleasant winter day. On this particular day, I was running across a field at top speed. Now, if you know me personally, you know that I never, ever run unless there is an emergency. This emergency came in the form of a newborn baby calf who had somehow gotten out of the pasture. He was running. I was chasing him. After what seemed like a million decades later, I finally caught him and wrangled him into the cab of the pickup. He was sitting across my lap.

You can guess what happened next.

My little newborn emergency peed and peed and peed and peed and peed and peed and peed.

He peed forever. Probably because it was most likely his first real pee since birth.

It was very, very warm. But because it was a cold, unpleasant day in winter, the warmth quickly turned to frozen, smelly pee pants.

To make matters worse, because we needed to get our little newborn friend reunited with his mother as quickly as possible so that she wouldn't reject him, I didn't even have time to run into the house to change pants. So, I walked around for the next 30-45 minutes like that.

When you're in grade school, you learn a little writing concept called "Comparison/Contrast," wherein you describe the differences and similarities of two things. In grade school, you might write a comparison/contrast of dogs and cats. In high school, with your tastes more refined and adult, you might write one comparing dogs and cats in the works of Steinbeck and Dostoyevsky. But when you're a full-grown adult, you can write a comparison/contrast of whatever you want.

I decided to write one about the two times I got peed on.

Here is the comparison/contrast part of it.

Comparison: It was very unpleasant both times I got peed on.

Contrast: Several gallons of calf pee all down my pant leg and into my socks and shoes where it got cold and frozen was far less traumatic than a woman getting significantly less pee on my foot for two seconds.

That's the end. I'm going to take a shower.

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