WRITINGS ON A BATHROOM STALL

I found myself at the mall on Sunday. (This is what happens when you have no NFL team to root for. You conveniently find other stuff to do.)

Anyways, the sweats hit me and I had to run to the bathroom.

Of course, with no one in the bathroom, I chose the King stall. You know, the one reserved for handicap people.

I apologize to all handicap people in advance here. Although, considering my girth lately, I may qualify.

As I sat there and unloaded the fury I looked up and saw this….

I paused momentarily. Now, you see a lot of these kinds of messages in bathrooms, but for some reason I paid attention to this one.

Was it because the grammer was so crappy? Goes instead of gives?

Perhaps.

More so I wondered if the person with the phone number knew that someone was talking about them like this.

Maybe it was true…I don’t know.

But even if it was, I’m not sure she wanted the entire Detroit metropolitan area to know it.

10 minutes later, I still pondered this dilemma. Should I call this person? Should I send them a text? What would Jesus do?

I figured that Jesus would probably tell this person to stop slutting it up so I erased that from the brain archives….

Then I did the unthinkable…

I entered the number into my text messaging.

This person has a right to know I told myself. In fact, its my duty as a citizen to tell them.

I snapped a pic and sent the text.

I have yet to receive a response two days later. Maybe it was the wrong number, maybe the person thought it was a bad joke. Maybe they can’t receive text messages.

As I walked out of the bathroom a full 30 minutes later I patted myself on the back. Not because I unloaded one of the greatest dumps of all-time, but because I did a service for mankind.

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