When Sliders Hit the 'Landing Zone'...

So it's summertime.  The short time of the year it's "acceptable" to wear white pants.  In my case, they were more like a muted ivory, but you get the picture.

I normally avoid fast food, but I was in between assignments, and was incredibly hungry.  It was a hot day, so on my way back to the office, I hit up the drive-thru at Burger King.  I was too busy thinking about all the shit I had to get done that afternoon, that I neglected to say the customary easy on the special sauce when ordering my Whopper, a move I would live to regret.  I did, however, remember to say with easy ketchup & mustard.

After paying for & receiving said order, I rifled through the bag in search of the Whopper like there was a priceless diamond hidden in it.  I tore off the wrapper and proceeded to begin devouring my sandwich as I slowly drove back to work.

And boy, was it tasty.

I still am uncertain what precipitated the next event, but at some point I either wasn't pinching the sandwich hard enough, or the summer sun was what caused one of  the sneaky meat patties to slide out of the sandwich and facedown onto my lap.

FUCK.
ME.

It landed square on my crotch.  
Face down.

I was so horrified I picked up the patty & flung it into the bag and began going to town on the damage control. 

Ketchup?
Check.
Mustard?
Check.
Special Sauce?
Check.

All three were clearly identifiable and on my crotch.

So, naturally, I reach into the bag with the hopes of retrieving napkins I was praying they did not forget to put in the bag.  The napkins were there, but they were underneath the patty I chucked so haphazardly into the bag.

I pulled over and frantically started trying to use the clean portions of the napkins to clean the patch on my snatch.  

But all I really accomplished was to smear it around and rub it in more.

Fucking wonderful.

Now it looks like I killed something.  On my crotch.

I don't know why, but I felt with every passing minute the stain was setting in further, and baking into my crotch in the midday sun.  This gave me an urgent sense of purpose.  Get back to work AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND GET THE FUCKING STAIN OUT.

Thank God I was not far away because seconds felt like hours.  

I'm sure I looked rather curious at stoplights frantically rubbing on my crotch, but at that point I really didn't give a fuck.

Walking back into the office, I made a bee-line for the bathroom and was sweatin' like a pregnant nun in church.  And lord was I praying no one would see me before I got there.

The elevator ride alone was mortifying.  M-O-R-T-I-F-Y-I-N-G.   "Please don't look at my crotch, please don't look at my crotch...." echoed through my head as I awkwardly tried to place my hands to cover the mess.

Once in the bathroom, I breathed the BIGGEST sigh of relief, even though the work was just about to begin.

I had not thought through the logistics of how this would be handled, and basically bellied up to the sink and started frantically splashing water onto the problem.  

Hot? or Cold?  FUCK.  One sets the other releases, but fuck if I could remember such intricacies under such pressure.  So I tried both. 

NOT helping.

Add soap, Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Now its just a blended mess AND it looks like I wet my pants, which were now see-through. I instantly regretted opting for heart sprinkled underwear that day.  Jiminy Friggin Christmas.

I had no choice, these bitches are gonna have to come off. 

So I check to see if there is a lock on the door.  Of course not.  Because there are 2 toilets, there is no lock on the damn door.  

Fuck it.  I'm standing at the sink in my dress shoes & socks & underwear frantically scrubbing away when in walks a co-worker.  Lovely.

But - as luck would have it - she happened to have a Tide stick in her purse.  

The clouds parted and a ray of light shone down upon me.  A savior to my rescue in this time of need.

Normally I would be all careful and mousy about using it, but I colored that shit like a kindergartener on crack.

At last, I was making headway coloring through the special sauce, and plowing through the ketchup.

But that mustard is a sunnovabitch.  And there was still a "grey patch" where I had smeared and pushed the shit so far into the fibers that a 6 month soak in bleach couldn't have got it out.  It still looks like my pubic mound barfed.

When I had scrubbed and scrubbed until no further progress could be made (and I was literally panting with exhaustion) I succumbed to the powers of the mustard seed.

Defeated, I put my pants back on, only to realize there was no power hand dryer in the bathroom.  Seriously?   So off they came as I whipped them up and down in the air as I was trying to send smoke signals.

Needless to say, I walked around the office carrying a very large notebook for the remainder of that afternoon.  

 The term sliders has new meaning to me.  I cringe every time I hear it.

I never did get to enjoy the rest of my fuckin' sandwich.