A Maritime Story On A Maritime Day

Today started out like any other.  I walked into work and ripped yesterday’s page away from my movie trivia tear-away calendar.  Upon removing the page, I realized that today, August 8th, is a holiday.  What holiday you ask?  Well, break out your life-saving inner-tubes and gather your seamen, it’s Coast Guard Day!  And in honor of this unrenowned and remote holiday, I’m gonna tell you my best Coast Guard story! Yay!  I suppose, though, the story isn’t so much about the Coast Guard as it is about a former roommate of mine who was in the Coast Guard.  For anonymity’s sake let’s call him ….. umm …. I don’t know, Chris.

Anyways, I used to live in the upper of a duplex with Chris and one other person (we’ll call him Andy), and I suppose it was sort of a shithole.  There were old drop ceilings throughout almost every room, hideous wallpaper, and wretched wood paneling seemingly everywhere.  And we didn’t do much to improve the place.  All of us smoked in the apartment (sometimes simultaneously), cleaning was done less and less regularly the longer we stayed there, and we never could quite get that “dude smell” (AKA mixture of sweat, semi-rotten food, overflowing garbage, warm beer, smoke, and feet) out of the place.  On top of that, something was always broken.  We had a sink that constantly leaked scalding hot water, a step on the front porch that would regularly fall off, a broken stove, a shower with no shower head and, as will be explained in this tale, bad doorknobs.

The story began as I walked into the bathroom one night to take a leak.  After I finished up, I opened the door and the knobs on both sides popped off.  Having the mechanical abilities of a retarded amputee, I did my best to repair the door but soon realized that this “quick fix” wasn’t going to last.  I left the bathroom and told my roommates, “Hey guys, the doorknob in the bathroom popped off.  I fixed it but it’s really kinda sketchy… so be careful.”  Without inspection, both my roommates nodded and told me they got it.  I walked to my bedroom, not giving it a second thought.

I think about an hour later, nature called Chris.  Now what happened next is extremely hard to explain.  So to help me do so, please refer to the aerial diagram of our bathroom below while reading the rest of this.  (Apologies for the crudeness and serial killer-istic-ness of the drawing)


Chris walked into the bathroom.  He put the seat up and took a leak.  Much like any non-ape with opposable thumbs and a penis, he stood in front of the toilet to do so.  Because no women lived at this place, Chris did not put the seat down upon completion.  He zipped up, flushed the toilet, and went to his left to open the door.  As he swung it open he pulled the door knob on his side completely off.  As he held it in his hand, he looked at it and was unable to respond quickly enough to the knob on the other side of the door, which flew off and went airborne, landing in the toilet that was still flushing.  And just like Nicholas Cage’s chances of winning another Oscar, he watched that doorknob go down the toilet.

Actually I take that back.  Had that thing actually gone completely down our shitter, the story would’ve ended there, simply leaving us down one doorknob.  But it didn’t, it actually got stuck in the toilet, and it took a few days before our landlord replaced it.  During that entire time, that small circular piece of brass prevented any of us from taking a dump in our own home.  I, having a huge comfort issue with pooping in public, was forced to drive to an ex-girlfriend’s (we’ll call her Anni) apartment for a few days just so I could drop a deuce.  In retrospect, I suppose it’s kinda funny.  At the time, however, it was decided that Chris should take the fall for the mishap.  His punishment: helping our overweight 50-something female landlord replace the toilet while she told him stories about how having sex in the shower is, and I quote, “erotic.”

And that is my story.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “What the hell did that have to do with the Coast Guard?”

The answer: Nothing.

But if I entertained you for even the briefest of moments during this holiest of Coast Guard times, consider it my “Sea Pig’s Day” present to you.


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