Me and my cup o’ pee

My and my little pee cup.

My and my little pee cup.

A few minutes ago I hit up the local Quest Diagnostics lab to have some blood taken. The employee who worked there jabbed a needle into my arm, removed what she needed then said, “I also need a urine sample.”

“OK,” I replied.

She handed me a cup and two small white pouches. We were in a hallway. There were people two feet away, waiting.

“Here’s what you do,” she said. “You take the little pouch, open it. There’s a moist swab. Wipe the tip of your penis with it. Then open the big pouch, take the big moist swab, wipe the tip of your penis with that. Then urinate in the cup.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

“Grab the key at the front desk,” she said. “Go out the door, turn right, go about 10 feet and there’s a public restroom.”


I followed the instructions. There was one stall and a urinal. The stall was occupied. I waited and waited. The guy was clearly in deep poop mode. Finally, I stood at the urinal, cup and cell phone in one hand, two pouches in the other. I put my cell in my pocket, tore open a pouch, placed the other pouch in the cup, put the plastic cup beneath an armpit, pulled down my shorts, swabbed, waddled over to the nearby waste basket (shorts around my knees, cup still wedged in armpit), tossed the penis-tip swab, returned, swabbed again, did the whole waddle thing again, pissed into the cup. The cover was ill fitting, so while trying to wedge it atop the cup some of the pee spilled on my hand. (It was warm and soothing)

Finally got the damn thing on, then had to return 10 feet and through the front door with my cup o’ pee shining bright yellow and my pride back in the waste basket.

Happy Friday.

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