So, I guess I’m going to tell you about the time a random dude peed in my freakin’ bed. Ugh. Get ready to judge me.
I was in University. Usually in my free time outside of class I would tutor orphaned blind kids or organize sing-alongs for all our nation’s heroes living at the retirement home down the street. But on one particular night, a couple of pals convinced me to partake in a little tomfoolery and alcohol tasting. Now, I don’t know what was in that wiggly-juice, but it made me feel like Cinderella pretending to be a Thunder Cat in a dog costume. *high kick!*
No, seriously I think it was like the 8th night in a row of partying at Doogie’s and we had overstayed the friendly window between “it’s done” and “you’re done”. You know… when they turn the lights on and you notice the disgust and judgment on the pub-owner’s face who is old enough to think of all the people who’d give their left hand for an education and here you all are drinking it away like a bunch of goddamn ungrateful brats.
I totally love these fun Greek costumes... this weird line party is so cool let's do a shot!
I remember stumbling home with one really good friend and one not really good friend. My really good friend wanted to go to his house to keep partying, but I wanted to go to mine… and then the lower-level friend, who we’ll call “Shazamo” (I’m so wild!) kind of split the camp (because he was one of them thinkin’ types and realized that if he went to my house he could try to get all up in me which, spoiler alert, didn’t happen). So, Shazamo goes “nah bro, I’m gonna go to her place. Cool if I sleep on your couch? I’m so drunk I don’t want to drive”.
This is the part where I confess that I “used to be” a TOTAL idiot. I was naive to say the least* and when it came to situations like these, I was never quite sure when it was a hit-on or a genuine request. The young chap was just being responsible, looking for a safe haven and in need of shelter so as not to risk the lives of others.
Also he had pot and I hadn’t fully decided if I did/didn’t have a crush on him.
SO ANYWAY, I’m like, ok, yeah, let’s just hang at my place and you can grab your car in the morning. Whatever. My good friend bailed (red flag) and minutes later we arrived at my kick-ass apartment.
Welcome. Oh yes, the crown molding really does highlight my money, thank you for noticing. More champagne-rubies?
After talking for a few minutes I realized Shazamo was hammered to the gills. He could barely form words and asked me about school 3 times in a row “sho yeeoo go tza skull? Woot aauurrrrr hhyuu sztudeeyen?”. How had I not noticed this before!? Oh right, that whole total idiot thing.
After probably 3 minutes of hell and no materialization of said pot, I said I had to work in the morning (truth) and was going to bed. Now, Shazamo was no slouch, drunk as he was. As I went to my room he asked me if he could share my bed, no funny stuff, because he had really effed up his back. (Hahahaha what a loser!). BUT, he had actually mentioned back surgery before that… so -and I actually remember it word for word- I said: “listen, you can sleep in my bed, but if you try anything, Shazamo, I will cut you”. I actually said “cut”. Cause I’m a part-time Puerto-Rican drug-runner.
Jessica Flamingo, 2003, Whitby Correctional Facility
So we went to bed, fully dressed and both passed out immediately. Which was fine by me. Everything was going great. I was getting my dream-on, HARD, when suddenly I woke up sweating. Like, covered in SO MUCH SWEAT. I started freaking out, never having sweat so much before in my life (a result of my inclination toward art vs. sport) when I sat up and realized it was all over my bed. “DID I JUST PEE!?” I thought to myself, still foggy, and then it crept into my mind, slowly, like a tiger stalking a zebra. I spun around to the low-level friend sharing my 100% cotton futon mattress. “SHAZAMO WAKE UP! You PEED in my bed!” He mumbled something in drunk but got up. The rest is a bit of a blur, but I think after I showered I threw him a cloth and gave him and an old sheet to wear and made him leave his jeans in my bathroom. I soaked up as much of the pee as I could with towels and then put clean ones and laundry soap all over my mattress (what would YOU do!?) and then we spent the rest of the night on the couches. I took the big one.
pre-pee
post-pee
The next day I woke up and after talking with Shazamo for a few seconds I realized that he had no idea what happened. He did not know why we were on the couches or why his jeans were wet and in my bathroom…. He probably thought he got lucky and protein-ed in them or something.
I went to the kitchen to make breakfast and was faced with what is still one of the biggest hosting dilemmas I’ve ever experienced: I was making a hangover breaky before work. It smelled delicious, the parm and tomato omelet sizzling in the pan, toast bronzin’ right on up. Crap… do I make extra breaky for piss-head over there, say nothing about the futon thus saving his fragile 20-something year old ego or do I eat it in front of him and tell in detail how he was going to spend his day cleaning my goddamn mattress and apologizing? I made extra breaky (well what would YOU do!?). I sat down and handed him the plate “here – you must be hungry too”. And then Shazamo, the piss-ass-effing-pisser looks at me and says “oh” *sucking air in through teeth* “actually, I don’t really like eggs… they’re like a weird texture for me.”
AND THEN HE ASKED ME IF I HAD KETCHUP SO HE COULD DUNK HIS TOAST.
And that, boys and girls, is the story of how Shazamo died by Heinz bottle.
I know it looks all red and scary but don't worry, it's just blood.
I’m sure this story is probably going to make me seem like a full blown dumb-dumb and I can’t wait to hear all my friends say stuff like “I can’t believe you made him breakfast” but to that I say: I know.
Anyway, I actually saw this guy from time to time around town, and was always cool with him (despite never actually paying attention to anything he said to me because his face caused me to relapse into the moment of waking up covered in another person’s urine. BLEHCK). I didn’t spread the story to all our mutual buddies, or smear his name. I just posted it on the Internet. *Japanese Anime Giggle*
Oh, and the mattress… yeah, um, I flipped it? And then I put an extra foam thing on it? And then I just pretended it never happened because I couldn’t afford another bed and I didn’t want to ask my parents for a new one because I would have to tell them this story.
Well what would YOU DO!?
xoxo Jess
私のベッドでおしっこ
(*For years after moving away from my home town (population 6,000) I would turn and wave when a car would drive by and honk assuming I knew the driver… why else would they honk unless we knew each other? I later learned it’s because honking is the douchebag’s poetry.)
jessicaflamingo 