Blog virginity, and the epic tale of the shittin' man

Short of a terribly whiny stint with a livejournal in high school (I am very ashamed) this is my first trip into blogland. Because I work with the public on a daily basis, I have been exposed to a variety of silly, if not downright bizarre behaviors by the general population. I can't imagine this blog is going to get any more traffic than the people I know who have the url, but just in case, I'll cover my ass. What you need to know about me:

1. I work for a small, predominately male lifeguard agency somewhere along the coast of California.
2. If you know me and want to respond, please don't use my name-- for my sake, my coworker's sake, and the sake of the city I work for.
3. All the names here are pseudonyms.
4. This is all 100% truth; everything here has happened. And after reading some of these stories, you will understand the need for privacy.

That's all the rules for now. The season starts officially in a week; until then, I will regale you all with tales of last summer's shenanigans. And now, for....

The Epic Tale of the Shittin' Man

The bathroom in the main tower, is, to put it lightly, sketchy. It has two doors, neither of which lock securely. So for me, my paranoia of being walked in on in the bathroom, coupled with the random males that roam the lifeguard station aimlessly-- this bathroom is a thing of nightmares. I prefer to take my chances with the possibly HIV-encrusted thrones in the public bathrooms rather than play roulette with the bathroom in the station.

I was on my break (I use the word lightly, for reasons that will be expounded upon later), and I needed to pee. Rather than holding it all day, I decided to brave the public restrooms in the park. Most people understand that the beach and the park have a tendency to attract crazies-- and a park by the beach? Well, it's a crazies-mecca.

As I quietly relished the shade and relative peace of the bathroom stall, I heard stomping.

Clunk. Stomp. CLUNK. STOMP.

CRASH.

The stall next to mine in the woefully unisex bathroom was torn open with a battle cry: "IT'S SHITTIN' TIME!"

Never have I heard a man so intent on doing his business. Before I could be party to the surely audible er... shitting, for lack of better word, that was about to occur, I decided to leave the poor man in peace.