Last Wednesday while walking home from work, I accidentally slipped on a patch of ice left over by the snow storm and fractured my right hand. After five hours in the emergency room and another two of damning Bloomberg straight to hell, I was eventually sent home with my hand wrapped in a cast and a big bottle of “oxycotton”, along with instructions from my doctor to take the next day off work to adjust to the new cast. But seeing how the next morning I had a huge breakfast meeting scheduled with a big client I’d been trying to land for two years, and not to mention the fact that my boss had been on my ass for falling short of my year-end sales goal yet again, I knew missing that meeting would surely be career suicide. So like a trooper the following morning I woke up and prepared myself for what was to be my biggest sale of my career.
Although it was somewhat awkward attempting to get dressed with my right hand now in a cast, with the assistance of my doorman Hector who was nice enough to tie my tie for me, I made it to the untra-chic Tribeca Grill with minutes to spare. And despite the occasional throbbing in my hand, it was pretty much a successful meeting. The only thing left to do was sign the contract. Since Mr. Brooks insisted on going over each page of the lengthy proposal with a fine toothed comb, in order to give him a little privacy I decided to go to the bathroom. If only I had waited.
In all the madness of getting dressed that morning, I realized that I forgot to take my usual morning dump. Although I would normally never dream of taking one in a public restroom, the combination of those two oxycottons along with the three espressos had proven to be a little too much for my system. So with at least ten minutes to kill, I dipped into one of the three fancy stalls and went for broke.
Shortly after I finished I discovered that there was a bit of a problem. With my right hand all bundled up in a cast, I realized that I wasn’t able to wipe my ass. No matter how hard I tried, with my wiping hand all bundled up there was just no way I could do it. Flustered, I tried every thing I could think of but to no avail. I tried reaching around and wiping with my left hand but that didn’t work; I then propped my right foot on the toilet seat and tried this move where I positioned the roll of toilet paper between the heel of my shoe and my ass as I bounced down on it, but I just wasn’t flexible enough to pull it off; in a state of desperation, I even tried wrapping the entire seat up with toilet paper and then aggressively scooting back and forth on it, but nothing seemed to work. I thought “Dammit Brett this is a mess! Literally.” Now somewhat beginning to panic, I thought “what in the world am I gonna’ do?” There was no way I could go back to work without that contract in my hand, but at the same time I absolutely couldn’t go back out into the dining room with my ass full of shit. I’m pretty sure that’s absolutely the last thing anyone wants to smell in the middle of eating their breakfast. Not to mention, in a corporate environment it can be seen as just a little unprofessional.
So with Mr. Brooks out there waiting, I came to the startling realization that in order to pull this off, I Brett C. Sanders was now going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers. So with absolutely no other choice, I swallowed my pride and did something no adult should ever have to do in a public restroom; I asked for help. I leaned in towards the gentlemen in the stall to my right with the nice Gucci loafers on and muttered those words no grown man ever wants to say, “Excuse me man, can you please come help me wipe my ass?”
From a guy who once walked six miles in the rain, all because he lost his wallet and was too embarrassed to ask a stranger for twenty cents to add to his bus fare; let me tell you, those words didn’t come easy. And the situation played out pretty much exactly how I’m sure one would imagine. With the guy shouting out obscenities at me as he stormed out. With my pride pretty much shot to hell at this point, and my big sale still out there looming in the wings, I patiently waited for the next guy to come in and repeated the question all over again. After about seven attempts, believe it or not but God finally sent me an angel. This little Asian guy in the stall to my left agreed to come help me out. I was saved. I thought “Damn…prayer really does work.” Although in my opinion, I thought the guy was smiling just a wee bit too much for the job that was to be at hand; let me tell you, that little China-man wiped my ass like he was born to do it. I was amazed at his technique. Truth be told, I don’t quite think my ass had ever been wiped that well before. Talk about taking pride in your work. He was actually so thorough, that at one point I had to say “Alright that’s enough man, I think it’s clean.”
The main thing I love about New Yorkers is their ability to always come together in a time of crisis. I was literally almost moved to tears by this man’s generosity. It was like September 11th all over again. I got my ass cleaned and my faith in humanity restored all in one felled swoop. Forget about the pilot that landed that stupid plane on the Hudson, this guy in my opinion was a real New York hero. Still a little misty-eyed, I wondered how on earth do you begin to thank a person for such a beautiful gesture; because I knew there was no way in hell I was gonna shake his ass hand after he was done. That’s just plain nasty. But then…just as I was fixing my lips to say thanks; to my surprise while smiling from ear to ear, the little Asian man turned around, dropped his draws too, and then eagerly shouted “Okay…your turn.”
I was beyond mortified. I thought ‘What the f*ck is going on here?” Confused, I yelled out “Man what kind of sick shit are you into?” With an attitude he then replied, “No way man! I wipey your ass… now you wipey mine.” I couldn’t believe what was happening. Furious, I shouted “Man this ain’t no f*cking game? If you don’t get yo little freaky Chinese ass out my stall…” In that exact moment the door swung open and in rushed two security guards. Meanwhile both of us are standing there in the middle of this tiny stall arguing with are draws down to our knees. This technically did not look good. One of the guards exclaimed they had gotten complaints that some guy was in there soliciting sexual acts and then yanked both of us out of the restroom.
I can honestly say being escorted out of the men’s room by two security guards with a little freaky Asian man in tow, had to be hands down one of the top eight most embarrassing moments of my life. As we were aggressively ushered through the dining room, I suddenly realized we were in a direct path of my table. I gasped “Oh shit…Mr. Brooks!” In the midst of all the commotion; completely confused, Mr. Brooks looked over and asked “Brett, what in God’s name is going on?” But before I could explain, one of the guards cut me off and said “We caught them in one of the stalls wiping each others ass.” I was speechless. I thought “Damn, even Jesus couldn’t even put a good spin on that.” I guess it goes without saying I didn’t get my big sale. I tried calling, sending flowers, I even emailed him a note from my Doctor, but Mr. Brooks never took any of my calls again. And the worst part of this story is, it’s now been five days and I still have not been able to appropriately wipe my ass.
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND I LOVE COMMENTS SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ONE BELOW!
