Peed in a cup this morning.
Hate bragging, but did it v-e-r-y well. No dribbling. No side spills. They handed me a wipe, just in case the exterior of the jar turned moist. It did not. I pee straight as a mofo.
Anyhow, after completing the exercise, I was instructed (via the above signage) to place my urine sample into the metal cabinet. So I opened it, and—lo and behold!—my pee has a pee neighbor. That’s me on the left, John on the right (I read the label). And it felt oddly … intimate. Like John and I now have something in common and should now be friends. I feel like we could have gone fishing later today, crack open some beers, catch some rainbow trout, talk about pissing into a jar.
“You miss at all?” I’d ask.
“Well, maybe a little,” John would reply.
“Dude, it’s OK. We all have our moments.”
“I dunno. I’m a little embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It happens to …”
I see John’s shoulders slumped. He can’t talk about this.
“These fish are really biting!”
Alas, John and I are pee producers passing in the night.
There will be no fishing trip.
