I'm late for work.
This was back in my concierge days, when I lived on Staten Island. I was already 12 minutes late to work, so it's not like I could have just jumped in a taxi and called to let them know that I was on my way. I was in deep shit.
8:13am- I spring out of bed. The entire room shifts to the left and I nearly fall flat on my face. I'm naked. I grab my cell phone. 3 missed calls, all from work.
8:14am- I call my manager on duty. I need to think quickly.
Manager- "Hello, this is Nicole."
Me- "Err… Nicole, it's T-bone. I just got a speeding ticket and I couldn't use my phone. So sorry. I'm on my way."
8:15am- I observe the floor: My clothes are all over, there's a McDonalds bag with a receipt totaling $17 stapled to the outside. The Sunday New York Times is piled on the floor as if it were laid out for a dog to piss on.
8:16am- I grab the first things I can find in my drawer. It was the dead of summer, so I ended up with a Batman shirt, basketball shorts, and my socks from the night before. I throw them on, and search the room for my shoes. Nowhere to be found. What the fuck? I step on the newspaper. It's wet. I have apparently urinated on the wee wee pad that I laid out for myself. Awesome. I yank my socks off and grab my flip flops.
8:20am- I'm furiously brushing my teeth and peeing at the same time. I gag and nearly vomit into the sink. I regain my composure, then take a shot of mouthwash.
8:22am- I burst out my front door and sprint to my car. The rubber flip flops slap the pavement and the tips of my toes scrape the concrete.
8:26am- I'm on the highway going 100mph in my 1999 Ford Escort. My blood alcohol level is still probably twice the legal limit.
8:46am- I'm on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway making phenomenal time. I get a text from my buddy, who was with me the night before-
"Are u alive?"
9:01am- I park my piece of shit car and think about the 20 people I nearly killed getting here. My phone vibrates again. Different friend this time-
"Did you make it home ok?"
9:03am- I sneak through the employee entrance and into the bellman's closet. A buddy from the front desk, Mike, is in there, texting.
Mike- "Dude, where were you? You look like hell."
Me- "I got a ticket."
I had my suit stashed in the closet because it was summer and didn't feel like wearing it on my commute. I pull my basketball shorts down without even thinking. Mike's body jolts and he quickly turns his head.
Mike- "Dude, come on!"
I look down. I have forgotten to put on underwear, and my cock and balls are out.
9:07am- I go into the lone unisex bathroom in the lobby. The image of early-90's Robert Downey Jr. stares back at me in the mirror. I came to work in flip-flops, so now I'm wearing dress shoes with no socks. I question my life decisions.
9:09am- I finally make my way to the Concierge desk. Word must have gotten out about my arrival, and a line of eeehhhh's have formed.
9:10am- I have started my computer, and it is loading. A man from France wants tickets to a bus tour immediately. I tell him that my computer is starting up. He folds his arms and stomps his feet like a child.
9:12am- My computer has loaded. I opt to open G-chat instead. I tell the man from France that it is still starting up and he needs to wait a few minutes. He scoffs and looks outside, as if there is another concierge desk in the middle of 6th Ave.
9:13am- I send an instant message another concierge friend-
TboneHotel- I want to die.
9:15am- I sell the man from France his fucking bus tour. He doesn't thank me. My concierge friend responds to my IM-
ConciergeFriend- LMAO you have a problem.
9:26am- I finish plowing through a series of bus tour information and airport shuttle services. Each person looked at me like I was a dirty tampon on the bathroom floor of a biker bar. I need to sit down. My desk has a sign for when I went to lunch or to the restroom.
THE CONCIERGE WILL RETURN IN 5 MINUTES.
10:40am- I'm at the cafe across the street enjoying a delicious iced coffee. I overhear someone order a bologna and ketchup sandwich. My body tells me to vomit once again. I fight it and, just barely, win.
2:50pm- I've plowed through another group of idiot tourists. My stomach begins to make all sorts of horrific noises.
3:11pm- I gear up for the first burrito fart of the day. Farting was a pastime at the Concierge desk because people never think that it's the guy in the suit. I squint my eyes and grind my teeth, waiting for the first bomb to drop. Only it doesn't happen right away. No worry, all I need is just a little more umph.
3:12pm- I feel the fart come to the surface. This is going to be a monster. Wait for it... Wait for it...
3:13pm- A silent bit of gas comes out, followed by a spray of fecal matter onto the back of my pants. It was like someone shooting pudding out of a trumpet.
THE CONCIERGE WILL RETURN IN 20 MINUTES.
Check-in time in this hotel is 3pm. The lobby was fucking PACKED.
3:14pm- I waddle across the lobby, looking at the floor, fighting my way through a herd of eager travelers, leaving a stink trail behind me. I can't look anyone in the eye.
3:16pm- I make it to the unisex bathroom. As soon as I pull my pants down, I remember that I forgot to put on underwear this morning.
Fuck my life.
3:17pm- The disaster that I made in my pants hits my eyes and nose simultaneously and, before I could even think about it, my face is in the toilet.
3:18pm- I'm doing a "scream vomit". You know, the type of vomit where, if someone were outside the bathroom listening, it would sound like Chris Farley yelling into a coffee can.
3:23pm- The only moment in my life where I feel like I've hit a bottom. I'm laying bare-ass on a filthy hotel bathroom floor with my chin on the seat of a toilet. I have poopy pants around my ankles that I have still yet to address.
And I bought Mike lunch the next day.