Cellph Destruct

I have a truly good, positive, heartwarming post in the works about my day today, which itself was very good and positive and heartwarming. But there was an event that occurred in the midst of all the good, positive, heartwarming stuff that was in no way good, positive, or heartwarming ... but I can't help sharing it with you anyways.

CONTENT ADVISORY
This post is rated "I" for crass, sophomoric, and off-color subject matter. It is intended for immature audiences only.

Now, I normally wouldn't write about this type of event, but this is a special circumstance. I got a chance to make a total stranger truly, truly regret using his cell phone in an environment in which no cell phone should ever be used.

It all started with a buffet table.

Actually, it was something on the buffet table. That something wound up on my plate and, as often happens with things that wind up on my plate, it soon found itself in my stomach.

Unfortunately, whatever it was, it didn't feel like staying there.

Like most buffet tables, this one was stationed at a public event. Coincidentally, I found myself in need of a public restroom. I proceeded with great haste to the only stall suitable for such use, closed the door, and braced for the worst.

I usually try to maintain a reasonable degree of self-consciousness about public restrooms. I don't start idle chit-chat with the guy in the next stall, I don't whistle, sing, hum, or any other noisy time-passers, and I certainly try to avoid producing any gratuitous audible evidence of the nature of my business.

This time I didn't have that option.

So when I heard the guy walk into the bathroom, I felt a moderate degree of chagrin for subjecting him to conditions specifically outlined in the Geneva Conventions. That is, until I realized he was talking on his cell phone!

At that point, I felt it was my dooty (get it?) to teach this man a lesson in cell phone etiquette. And fortunately I was uniquely prepared to present this instruction.

I don't know why, but for some reason public restrooms seem specifically designed for acoustic amplification. That said, between the tiles and the porcelain, my gastronomical discomfort resulted in decibel levels comparable to those found NASA launch pads or teenagers' car stereos.

Yes, I was a sub-woofer.

As I was safely positioned behind the solid partitions, he could not see me smiling. I could hear in his voice that he was regretting his choice of venues for this particular phone call. I'm quite certain the party on the other line got wind (so to speak) of where he was. I think deaf people could have heard me.

But the simple joy I felt from being able to teach someone such an important life lesson turned to outright satisfaction when I heard him bring his call to an end. His final four words indicated that he probably chose the wrong person to inadvertently subject to my malharmonious melody.

"I love you, honey."

And being the nice guy I am, I helped him end his call on a high note!