Here is one...stalls with NO STALL DOOR! My god, I hate that.
Picture it, the year was 200-something (right now you should be seeing blurry waves in front of your eyes), I am at Office West Lounge in Omaha. I am looking good and feeling it...we have a solid group with us, the usual ratio for our group. 6 to 0 guys to girls...but we are all feeling it. After the 5th round of Golden Tee and TALKING about approaching some girls that clearly walked in thinking that Office West was going to be fun and not more like a drinking cemetery...I get that knot in my stomach and I know...I have about 90 seconds before I s#!t myself.
I come up with a pretty cool line to my buddies "Hey, I will be right back" and of course, they totally buy it. I head to the bathroom and realize not only is the outside door propped open...but there is no stall door!
I quickly do the math...there were about 20 people in the bar that night, 14 of them were easily WWI vets so I knew I had a little bit of time. I run into the stall rip down my acid washed jeans and start to "release the hounds" before I am even all the way on the seat. I push and push, sweat dripping on my brow, my stomach contracting like I have just done 8 minute abs in fast forward while being hazed at my frat house...
It is over...or is it...it isn't. I have a few more horrific pushes left and "it" is all out. I wipe...of course it is one of those times where I have to wipe like 14 times. I finish and pull my jeans back up...I felt like it all lasted less than two minutes.
I get back to my table and right away I hear "Good lord, you were gone forever...did you...did you s#!t in there?"