This might be a tad delayed, since the event I am about to mention happened on New Years 2004/2005, but since I've not be writing, I figure you can let that slide, all 0 of you other there.

I've never been one to do anything special on New Years. My habit of not drinking sort of knocks out 90% of things that can be done on that day. The most exciting thing I'd done in recent memory was go to some strangers house with a friend of mine and sit in the kitchen by myself while he was on the phone with his girlfriend. Or perhaps the 1999/2000 New Year where I'd had surgery for sleep apnea and I was out of it when the ball dropped. Regardless, you can see that I don't paint the town red, and the like.

I had moved to Nashville, TN just a few days before New Years this time around, and my ex-girlfriend, who also lived in Nashville, said we should go downtown and see what there is to see.

Now, I don't know if any of you have been to downtown Nashville for New Years, but it is 100% anarchy. We both took one look at all the people running around with no pants, breaking beer bottles over each others heads, and decided that we'd experienced all we needed.

Sadly, there was little else to do that we could find. Eventually we ended up stopping at an Indian buffet eatery and having a bite, and then drove around for a while pondering what we might do. After the literal hour it took us to drive out of downtown due to the traffic, we ended up, somehow, in the ghetto. You know, the place where a little baby is born and a mother cries. That ghetto.

It was around this point that the unthinkable happened. I had to go to the bathroom. And for those of you out there who've eaten Indian, you know it wasn't the type of bathroom using I could do standing up, unless you're VERY skilled and happen to carry toilet paper on your belt.

I tried to ignore this problem. The beads of sweat that began to burst upon my brow showed the intense effort at which I tried. I could not, obviously, ask this girl who I'd been dating but a few months to risk life and limb and stop somewhere. Besides, those of you who have been to a men's room know other reasons I'd not want to stop. In fact, life and limb is a small price to pay compared to going into one of those hell holes. But soon, not even Poseidon himself could have held back the fury of the tsunami that I was keeping at bay, and I had to give in and ask her to stop, and stop we did.

The first thing I noticed was that there were about 5 bullet holes in the door when I entered, but at the time, I didn't care one bit. I ignored the oddly upper-class seeming clerk with the high pitched voice and made my way to the damp, dark bathroom in the back.

What relief swept over me! I'd made it. Sure, I'd probably just gotten crabs from the toilet seat, and I might look around to find no toilet paper (I left my belt at home), but for now, life was good. As good as it can be, in such a situation, anyway.

We can [censor] pretty much all of this part, but let it be known that while I was sitting there, I noticed that the lock on the bathroom door was broken. I'd noticed it when I tried to lock it on my way in, but at the time there wasn't a moment to lose on such minor problems. However, now I was a little anxious about it. The door was out of my reach, and to try the lock again, I'd have to stand up, which was NOT happening until the completion of this ritual. But I figured, "Hey, I'll be quick and if anyone knocks I'll just say it's occupied". If you didn't know, no one knocks in the ghetto.

The guy who walked in was about the size, and also looked like, Tom 'Tiny' Lister Jr. (who I sat next to on a plane once, might I mention). He opened the door, and he opened it wide. And then he stopped and stared at me. And I stared at him, and he stared at me, and around we went. There was a long, uncomfortable pause for what HAD to be around 15 to 20 seconds. Waaaaay longer than anyone should be in this situation. Eventually I had the foresight to say "um...it's occupied?" (yes, I formed it as a question). And then he says to me, "Aw, dude, my bad!" and he walks out. However, he forgot to shut the door. And while I'm thinking to myself "do I ask him to shut it or do I risk standing up for the seconds it will take to close it?" he says loudly, back in the center of the 711..."that mother f'er stunk it UP!"

The world stood still. Except for the fact it didn't, because a second later, I saw about five heads lean into the visable area of the bathroom. They were stacked on top of each other, like in a cartoon. And they looked me dead in the eye, with no shame. And what could I do? Sit there and take it. And that is what I did.

When my work in that place had been complete, I had planned to just run outside, hop in the car, tell NO one about this experience EVER and put it all behind me. But I couldn't. And the reason? I still had to go to the counter and pay for gas.

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