Tales of Terror – Having an Accident in a VERY Public Bathroom

If you read my review of Graystone Tavern’s bathroom in Chicago’s Wrigleyville neighborhood, you know the kind of bathroom situation I once found myself in, but in case you haven’t, I’ll fill you in.

Graystone is a fantastic bar. The beer selection is stellar. The drinks are delicious. They even have a Hanukkah pop-up event every year with custom drinks like, “The Chosen One”, a blue variation of a Long Island Iced-Tea and tasty Jewish treats like, latke.

They also have…an interesting bathroom.

Yes, that is a loose toilet next to a door.

Now, followers of Jammin’ with Jeff might know that my side hustle involves hosting trivia for Whaddayaknow? trivia in the Chicagoland area, and occasionally almost getting punched in the face. So, I should disclose that Graystone is also a place I regularly host trivia (come in and say hi!) on Wednesdays.

After several, “Chosen Ones” during the “Eight Crazy Nights” of Graystone Tavern, is where our saga begins.

For the uninformed, the bathroom at Graystone is clean, but unique. It does have a lock, which is important, because it’s a small bathroom with a single urinal and a toilet without a stall that is right next to the bathroom door. If you need to do any expulsion of anything that is not fully liquid, you’ll want to use that door lock.

The bathroom at Gravestone is not a place to poo unless it’s an emergency.

And right as I was finishing a hosting gig here…I encountered such an emergency.

Regular readers will know this is not my first shart situation. I’ve actually run several marathons, so I am aware of the runner’s mantra of “never trust a fart.”

Unfortunately,I’ve not followed through on that advice.

I trusted a fart. I should not have.

This happened as trivia was coming to a close. Keep in mind, I had been speaking over a microphone to about a hundred people throughout the evening. So I couldn’t be conspicuous. That said, I had an urgent situation to take care of once I felt the wetness of my underwear after my colon release. So I ran to the bathroom with the standalone toilet.

I locked that door while I conducted post-shart damage control operation. Thankfully, the damage was minimal. Maybe my previous experience made my reflexes stronger, as I was able to calm the storm before it became a tempest.

Still, I needed to stand in the bathroom of a bar where literally dozens of regulars know me by name, and clean myself of a shameful situation.

Then I heard the knocking…

Angry knocking. Frustrated knocking. A drunk person who had a demand. And who currently viewed me a a villain.

Thank God for locks!

Did I respond?

No.

There wasn’t enough time! I had my own poopy problems to handle.

As soon as I was reasonably presentable, I finally left the bathroom. The angry knocker, almost worrisomely, was nowhere to be found.

I returned to the hosting stand because I still had to read the final question of the evening. My initial thought was, “I don’t think anyone noticed?”

The scent did not linger (thank you, liquid soap) and I ended the evening with no one knowing about my experience…except for the mystery angry knocker.

I almost felt as though I had beat the universe’s poopy twist. Honestly, Graystone might be more Poopable than the initial review. All things considered, the shart-incident was not that bad. The solo bathroom provided privacy and had a functioning lock. The bar staff, who I regularly work with, carried about their evening as normal as prior hosting shifts.

However, I did not escape an unknowing fact of this entire endeavor.

Sadly, the universe always wins. The real consequences came from my mode of city transit.

I prefer riding a bike, a the trek to Greystone is about three miles.

Which meant…I had to bike three miles back home.

Yes, moments of shame, thoroughly engulfed my body, during a tense, slightly itchy, 20-minute bike ride.

Upon arrival to my home, I checked the undies with a slight feeling of skid mark dread in the back of my mind. Thankfully, I had slighted the odds. It was truly a Hanukkah miracle.

Needless to say, I make it a point to never trust a fart. Especially after a few, Chosen Ones.