So, I Shit A Unicorn In The Denver Admirals Club

The Traveler: 

As previously established, I can not stand loud phone talkers. Especially in places that should be otherwise serine.

So today, I just finished an all day session with a top tier client, basically all day talking, thinking on my feet. All I wanted was a drink and to relax before my flight. Instead I’m confronted by some self entitled fifty year old guy with ginger curly hair wearing what appears to be a lady’s cotton blouse. He is offering extraordinarily loud and precise instructions to some nimwit on the other end on how to engage his dog in active play in the backyard.

“YOU GOTTA PRENTED TO CHASE HIM, YOU KNOOOOW… RUN AROUND IN THE BACK YARD WITH HIM… GET HIM TO CHASE YOU… MAYBE CHASE HIM A LITTLE BIT FIRST… YOU KNOOOOOW… ENTICE HIM.”

This wasn’t a momentary instruction, not some aside in an otherwise unnecessarily loud but generally generic conversation. This shit went on for like 10 minutes.

It made my head want to fucking explode.

It made me wish phones still had cords so I could strangle the shit out of this god-forsaken ginger douche.

It made me want to hunt down and slaughter mercilessly the ignorant bastard who actually needed to be instructed as to how to play with a dog.

It made me want to make a phone call of my own.

I dial The Girl.

“Hey Baby…” She says.

“I TOTALLY JUST SHIT A UNICORN.” I shout like I wanted the guys in the plane outside to hear.

“Oh my gawd, not again.” She said.

Not drawing enough attention I played harder, I stood up and pantomimed: “YEAH I JUST CRAWLED UP ON THE CONFERENCE ROOM TABLE, DROPED TROU, AND SQUEEZED OUT A UNICORN RIGHT THERE ---“ I’m waving my hands around, for effect, eyes are turning my way. “FUCK YEAH, THE FUCKING CLIENT WAS AMAZED. WOULDN'T YOU BE?”

“Oh baby… please don’t” The Girl pleads.

A lady across the room looks over at me, trying to discern what the fuss was, I shout back at her: “I SHIT A UNICORN ON A CONFERENCE ROOM TABLE”.

Knowing that there was nothing she could do now but play along, The Girl asks: “Was it a big one?”

“NO OF COURSE IT WASN'T A BIG ONE, I MEAN WHAT SIZE OF UNICORN DO YOU THINK I COULD FIT IN MY COLON?”

--BEAT—

“IT WAS ABOUT THE SIZE OF A ‘MY LITTLE PONY.’”

--BEAT—

“THE HORN, RIGHT, THE HORN WAS THE PROBLEM…” by now even ginger haired douche in the blouse looks my way. “THE HORN WAS THE ISSUE. I MEAN, ANYONE COULD SHIT A MY LITTLE PONY… BUT THE HORN COULD SERIOUSLY FUCK YOU UP.”

“Oh my gawd, tell me you are alone in a bathroom and not standing on a table…” The Girl pleads.

The lady from across the room walks over, ginger haired douche has now fixed his attention on me, as is everyone else. But I’ve locked eyes with him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“YEAH. I’M FINE NOW… JUST A LITTLE SORE.” I don’t take my eyes off the douche… he looks away tries to return to his conversation.

The Girl can’t resist: “David Blane froze himself in a block of ice.”

“MOTHERFUCKING FUCK DAVID FUCKING BLANE.” I spat back with such force that people who were trying not to pay attention recoiled.

“Who is David Blane?” Asked the nice lady who was treating me like I was having a psychotic episode.

“HE’S THAT ASSHOLE MAGICIAN WHO FROZE HIMSELF IN A BLOCK OF ICE.”

The Ginger haired douche is actually trying to talk over me now-- and not succeeding.

“FREEZING HIMSELF IN A BLOCK OF ICE IS WHAT’S CALLED AN ILLUSION. SHITTING A UNICORN IS DANGERIOUS – THE HORN PERFORATES A BOWEL, AND BANG 24 HOURS LATER YOU’RE DEAD OF SEPSIS”

The Girl is hysterical, laughing so hard she has to pull her car off the freeway.

I return to the phone like she’s said something insidious.

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK – “ I shouted into the phone. “YOU ALWAYS TRY TO UNDERMINE ME. YOU NEVER SUPPORT MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS!”

Red haired douche is looking back now, time to seal the deal. “YEAH I MIGHT BE AN ASSHOLE, BUT AT LEAST I’M NOT SOME DOUCHE TALKING TOO LOUD IN AN ADMIRILS CLUB TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO SOME OTHER FUCKING IDIOT HOW TO PLAY WITH A DOG!”

I lock eyes with the ginger, put my phone away, grin a wide psychotic grin and flip him off.

The lady who’d walked over –probably a psychiatric nurse, come to check the levels on my meds – looked at me blankly, not realizing that we were done.

“Can I help you?” I asked.