The Diesel Fumes Have Consumed His Brain Cells
Yet another adventurous week with the roommate. Our room is set up so that we share the bathroom with the room next to us. Therefore, there are two doors going into the bathroom and a problem could arise if someone were to enter, lock both doors, and then forget to unlock the door to his neighbor’s room. Get it? Good.
Well, as a matter of fact this did indeed happen. The dude next to us locked us out of our bathroom. The same thing happened a million times back in Charleston when I still had a roommate and a shared shitter, and it’s normally an easy fix. (Depending on the doorknob design, all you need is a coathanger to push a pin or a small coin to turn a slot.)
Unless, that is, you’re a diesel mechanic. Not only is my roommate completely deaf (he admitted he doesn’t wear earplugs whilst working on/near the diesel engines) he’s also mentally retarded, exremely loud when he talks, and he’s got this giggling thing he does when he laughs that would make even Barney the purple dinosaur go “WTF?”.
Anyhoo, the bathroom was locked but I wasn’t in the room at the time. I had been out exploring San Diego again and, once I returned, I was informed by my roommate that the door was locked from the inside. I could see the short circuiting of his brain when he told me this. He had this helpless look about him, like a dog that had shit on the carpet because no one was home to let him out.
Turns out I wasn’t far from the truth. He had filled two 16 ounce bottles full of piss because he couldn’t figure out how to open the door. Our door has the slot for the coin, but had he tried it? No. Had he gone to see if the guy was home next door, so that maybe he could open the door for him? Nope, not this guy. He decided to squirt into my Snapple bottle instead.
It’s no secret that I am always polite and pleasant towards others1, so I gently knocked on the bathroom door from our side, loud enough so that our bathroommate could hear. The guy happened to be home, so it worked and he apologized for locking it. No big deal, it was a harmless mistake.
Because of his annoying giggling and new talent for filling up containers with urine, I’ve decided to no longer refer to my roommate as simply “my roommate”. I’m sick of typing it and it lacks creative flare. Thereforce, he shall be known as “Mr. Gigglepiss” henceforth.
Some people in this world should just have been a blowjob.
1I hit the door loud enough so that the entire building could hear it. But I did it with the best intentions of being polite and pleasant…
May 18th, 2006 at 7:30 pm
Mr. Gigglepiss..that’s priceless. Don’t ever change.
May 19th, 2006 at 1:16 am
Look at th brite side: At least Mr Gigglepiss is housebrokn.
May 19th, 2006 at 2:15 pm
That’s funny, I had a guy I called Mr. Gigglepiss, as well. He shared a cube with me on the Connie. One day he got incredibly drunk in San Diego and forgot to leave his rack to urinate. I heard a loud going-on outside my rack and leaned out just in time to see his little two-finger held in his pudgy little hands, a strong stream flowing out of his fist and into my shoes. I nearly beat him to death with said shoe. He was known as Mr. Gigglepiss the Nasty Man from that day forward. Late that cruise, I caught him wearing my underwear.
May 19th, 2006 at 3:39 pm
Mr. “G” must be a pencil dick to pee in a bottle.
May 19th, 2006 at 3:41 pm
Hey, at least I don’t PEE in the house. Arf!!!
May 19th, 2006 at 4:32 pm
Doubtless that there will be more stories of Mr. Gigglepiss. I’ll keep everyone informed…
May 20th, 2006 at 7:01 am
Well I hope he at least told you where he had peed before you found it out for yourself.