Scootin' Along

There is nothing classy, refined, or even decent about this post ... and yet once again my first thought upon experiencing this incident was ... I gotta write about this on the blog.



There we were, grocery shopping at United Supermarkets.









It was somewhere between the beer section and the aisle that supports my wife's unhealthy addiction to Trappey's pickled jalapenos when a powerful stomach pain hit me.





So I made my way to the restroom. Now there I was, minding my own business, taking care of that urgent pain when in walks a man wearing fancy leather dress shoes. That is all I can give you for physical description as that was all that was visible from my throne as the man strode up and stood before the adjacent urinal.



It was at this point that Mr. Fancy Shoes first spoke these words, "Come on, Scooter."



At first it was sort of a whisper. But the both the volume and intensity increased with his second, third and fourth --  "Come on, Scooter." 



Now  I might have assumed the man had one of those fancy bluetooths or was otherwise on the phone if he had left it at --  "Come on, Scooter." 



But no, after only a few seconds Mr. Fancy Shoes let out a relieved sort of sigh and a "Oh yeah, Scooter." 



Then with a zip and a flush both he and Scooter were gone. Without washing up I might add.



Now if I was a guessing man, I'd say Mr. Fancy Shoes has prostate issues, and while I'm a fan of motivational speech I hate to break it to the Zig Ziggler of Urinals, but those things to the left and right of Scooter are not ears, so your cheerleader chants of  "Come on, Scooter," do nothing more than make you sound ... NUTS.