The WHSmith Incident: Why My Friend’s Distraction Led to Disaster
I’m standing beside the lift entrance at the back of the oddly depressing WHSmith store at Westwood Cross when I realise that my friend, the guy I’m here to meet up with, is taking a really long time to buy a magazine. I left him at the counter, and there was literally no queue… so when five minutes roll around, and he hasn’t followed me, I get that slightly odd feeling that something might be wrong.
I’m just about to investigate the situation when I see my buddy absolutely barrelling down the aisle towards the lift with a face like thunder. Let me take a second to describe my friend: he’s a young, muscular dude with a sporty demeanour and the sort of good looks that tend to attract a fair bit of attention when he’s not striding around town with his (knockout) girlfriend. However, when he’s heading for you, picking up the pace like he’s going to go for a rugby tackle, you pay attention.
My face suddenly turns serious. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’
‘Just get in the lift.’
‘But-‘
‘Dave, just GET IN THE LIFT. NOW.’
He practically shoves me back, just as the doors open….and we both go into the lift like we’re two gay guys who are seriously up for some fun.
I hit the side rail, shove him back as the doors close and muscle up (as much as I can): ‘What the HELL is wrong with you?’
‘I’ve wet myself, mate.’
‘You what?’
‘That stupid cow made me wet myself.’
We both look down, and he’s telling the truth: he’s wearing beige shorts that are now flooded with a darker tint all around the crotch.
I frown. ‘How-‘
‘I told you. That stupid cow with the fringe!’
I try to remember the people in the shop as we came in. ‘You mean the woman with the pram?’
‘Yes. Dumb BITCH. Look what she’s done!’
We both look down again. The lift door springs open and, to my shock, he presses the ground floor button, and we head back down. He’s obviously too embarrassed to get out of the lift, and I understand that… but….
‘How did she-‘
‘I dropped my wallet by the magazines. So, I’m halfway to the counter , and I’m thinking I badly need a piss when that stupid cow shouts at me and tells me I’ve dropped my wallet. It happened straight away.’
I nodded, but I’m really confused. ‘What happened, exactly?’
‘I wet myself when I get distracted. You know, like, really distracted.‘
There’s a pause.
I stare at him.
‘Seriously?’ is all I can manage.
‘Yeah. No messing. I mean, it hardly ever happens these days… because I’d need to be desperate for a whizz AND I’d need to get distracted at the wrong moment, but-‘
I look down at the patch on his trousers.
‘Er…dude: are you sure this isn’t a medical issue?’
‘No WAY. I fucking hate hospitals. Come on, dude: you know what it’s like. You can’t even set foot in a bloody hospital without having a panic attack.’
I nod.
‘You’re right, but I think that – on balance – I’d go see a doctor if I filled my shorts everyone somebody shouted my name.’
‘I’ve told you: it’s NOT every time. It’s just occasionally. What the hell are we going to do? I’m RINGING wet, here: it’s like I’m wearing a damp towel.’
The lift arrives and, when he presses the button again on three stunned people waiting at the ground floor entrance, I decide it’s time to take the bull by the horns. Otherwise we’re going to end up trying to convince security that we’re not more than good friends. I can pussyfoot around Pisspants all day long, but he’s got to get this problem looked into. It might be something serious, and I’m his friend: it’s my duty to make him feel so embarrassed about it that he goes to the doctor to get it checked out.
I snap my fingers to break this mood of insanity.
‘Right. First you’re going to go to the toilet.’
‘It’s a bit late-‘
‘Not for that! To blow-dry your shorts on the hand dryer.’
‘It’s low down on the wall in this place! I’d have to lie on the floor.’
‘Just take them OFF and do it.’
‘I can’t take my shorts off in a public toilet. It’s weird.’
‘It’s NOT weird. Just get in there and take your shorts off.’
‘I’m not wearing any boxers.’
‘So? Just DO IT.’
‘Will you come in with me?’
I shake my head. ‘If we both go in and you take your trousers off, then it becomes weird…..especially after all that crap in the lift. We’re going to end up getting arrested. Besides, if I go in with you I’d effectively end up blow-drying your balls, and I’m not that sort of guy.’
We both laugh until we realise that the lift door opened again and I just said that last bit to a family with small children.
