I looked down at my watch. Damn, 15 minutes until my Principles of Marketing exam, do I have enough time? I got up from my table and quickly gathered my books, thrusting them into my bag. Swinging my bag loosely over my shoulder I hurried away to find the nearest bathroom in the library.
Thanks to the last-minute cramming, I had no time to lose. I raced down the maze of hallways constituting the back half of the library's first floor. My head swiveled as I read the door signs on either side of me as I raced past them. Maintenance'? No. Staff only'? No. Female'? Almost. My pace slowed and a confident smile spread across my face as I sauntered up to the next door. What was I worried about? 11 minutes to spare. As I reached for the door, a sign greeted me 'closed for repair'. My smile dropped and my legs sprung into action as I felt the pressure starting to build inside me. I had no time to stop to read maps, no time to ask for directions, I took random turns in the hope of stumbling across a restroom. Finally I found another bathroom, male and in working order, mind you.
The little white man on the door welcomed me. I swung the door open triumphantly and proceeded to strut towards a vacant urinal. My hands swiftly unzipped my fly; I paused, anticipating sweet relief. Then nothing. Not a drop. I wasn't sure whether it was the fact that I get pee-shy and there were currently three other guys in the room, or that I had possibly misjudged my need to urinate.
I tried again, desperately, but again nothing. I had already been standing at the urinal for far too long, and I felt the stare of Denim-jacket-orange-converse-guy at the sink burning into the back of my head. I was paralyzed. I don't want them to think that I'm the sort of guy who considers urinating a spectator sport'. The homophobic inside me hit the panic button. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And by "homophobic inside me" I don't mean never mind. Woah, calm down, Cam. I'm sure that they haven't even been paying enough attention to little old me to know that I had been standing silently at the urinal for the past two minutes. Right?
I was still unable to go. Oh God, oh God. I need to find a way out of this. Sweat formed on my furrowed brow as my mind raced, searching for a way out of this increasingly awkward situation. My feet were concrete; I couldn't bring myself to move. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. I'm invisible, I'm not here. I opened my eyes once more and turned my head. Denim-jacket was still washing his hands. Damn it! He must be toying with me. He knows! He smiled and waved. That conniving bastard! I turned back around to face the cold white tiles. I needed a way out, anything. The flickering florescent lights matched my racing heart beat. I need to convince him that I am peeing, still. That's it! I was so self-assured that my plan would fool Denim-jacket. I sighed, hoping that he would buy it. What?! That wasn't an I'm-relieving-myself-sigh, it was a gasp. A gasp? Yes, a gasp, an I'm-enjoying-this-way-too-much-gasp. Damn, it Cam, you're better than this.
Then it came to me in the heat of it all, a way out of it, a way to show Denim-jacket that I can simply brush off this faux-pas. I turned my head once more. He was inspecting his eyebrows in the mirror. Smug fuck. I zipped my fly back up and swung around on my heels. "Sorry wrong room". It felt so smooth, so smart, and so so fucking stupid. "Sorry wrong room"? What was I thinking?! Why did I think that that was "smooth" or "smart"? My inability to think under pressure had reared its ugly head once more. Denim-jacket snorted. Damn you and your immaculate eyebrows. I tried to return with a comeback, but thanks to my sudden stutter only vowels came out. I quickly stumbled out of the bathroom; I could feel my face turning red.
Good news, though, I eventually made it to my exam, and who else should be seated next to me during it? No other than my good friend Denim-jacket. I could've sworn that he was smirking the entire time, that is while I squirmed and shifted in my seat. Damn it.