I don’t go out much anymore. Probably because when I do I end up with stories like this one, although it could also be because I’m currently broker than a joke. Which is pretty fucking broke.
I’ll be taking your order at McDonalds in 5.3 seconds.
But when I heard my lovely friend and fellow blogger Issa Mas was speaking at a Single Moms luncheon in New York City last week, I just HAD to splurge on the $26 train ride and the $35 event fee to go see her. She has encouraged me in so many ways over the course of our friendship and is one of the few bloggers I live close enough to visit. I’m ashamed to say it had been nearly a year since I’d seen her last and we live less than an hour away from each other.
I caught a train around 11 am, which was pretty uneventful until said train broke down. At first I had no clue because like any single mom who rarely gets a full 45-minutes of peace and quiet or alone time, I had put in my ear buds to enjoy some much needed electronic music while en route to the city.
It was glorious until I noticed that all too familiar “I’m going to stab you with a spork” look on my fellow passengers faces. You know, that same one I usually give my ex. It was at this point that I removed my ear buds in an effort to catch what everyone was grumbling about.
“…We’re sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re going to be here awhile…” was all I caught over the intercom, which was just enough to make me take out my flask.
“My friend’s, friend’s, friend was stuck on her train for two hours last week when it broke down!” exclaimed an extremely high-strung chick sitting across the aisle from me.
I offered her my flask, but she declined. Truthfully I didn’t want to share anyway.
As luck would have it we were only stuck for about 15 minutes before the train started moving. And just like that I was well buzzed and well on my way to New York City!
Once I arrived at Penn Station I arranged to meet up with my friend Ofelia who had taken the bus. Meaning I had to navigate my way to Port Authority, alone, which was several blocks, a few turns, one pair of sweaty boobs, and a prayer away. Anyone who knows me well is aware of how directionally challenged I am in the city, or anywhere for that matter. Unless there’s the premise of sex, which draws my vagina like a beacon wherever it may be.
I stopped to ask an attractive police officer for directions, who snarled at me because he probably gets asked for directions from wayward pseudo whores from New Jersey a hundred times a day. I half thought he might’ve given me the wrong route to get even, but turns out ten minutes later I had walked my way right where I was supposed to be.
Of course I gave myself a pat on the back and a sip from my flask in celebration.
Once Ofelia and I squeed and hugged, we made our way to the luncheon. It was fabulous, with a side of Macaroni and Cheese and bacon. No really, I was served Macaroni and Cheese with BACON.
The event was relaxing, inspirational, and just what I needed to rejuvenate after draining myself the last few months. Being in a room with other single mothers who go through the same struggles I do and just “get it” reminded me that I’m never alone. It also reminded me that I deserve to take a day off every so often and treat myself to an adventure without feeling guilty about it.
After the luncheon Ofelia and I decided to walk the city hoping to find the perfect dress for me to wear to Kiss Our Sass. Of course while we were walking I had to pee because I have a bladder the size of a peanut, so we stopped at the first Starbucks we could find.
Anyone who’s used a bathroom in Starbucks knows that they are unisex and there is usually only one of them, often causing a line. This Starbucks was no different. In fact, I waited a good six minutes and nearly wet myself before a small Asian man exited the bathroom so I could go in.
I hastily layered an excessive amount of toilet paper on the seat and sat down. Some women are hoverers. I am not one of them. Mostly because I had a mishap once while drunk hovering that left me pantless and wreaking of urine at a house party in my teens, but that’s a whole other story.
As I began to pee I noticed something wet on the floor in front of me.
At first I thought nothing of it, dismissing it as water that someone had dribbled on the floor while moving from sink to dryer, but as I glanced down between my legs I noticed something wet on the rim of the toilet as well.
Something white.
Something white and wet.
Something white, wet, and gooey.
And that’s when I realized that the small Asian man who had spent six minutes or more in the bathroom before me had been masturbating.
I probably should’ve been more appalled, but all I could do was snicker. I mean seriously, who jerks off in a Starbucks bathroom? As I stifled my laughter, pulled up my pants, and washed my hands, I wondered, was Starbucks coffee really good enough to cause an erection or were they just putting Viagra in the baked goods? Was it the Marvin Gaye they were pumping through the speakers that finally brought him to climax?
Or better yet, was Starbucks really a front for a brothel?!
The world may never know.
Of course once I exited the bathroom I told Ofelia what I had found. She was less entertained by the jerk off than I was and much more disgusted, although at one point I think I caught a glimpse of a smile.
I must’ve rubbed off on her a little that day.
We both left the Starbucks extremely thankful the Asian man had not.
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