There was some point during the conference at the convention center, where I realized I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't realize just how bad I had to go until I realized I had to go, then began to search for the nearest men's room. There wasn't any time to be picky, I walked in, made a right, saw a row of stalls and picked one. This event involved standing, I had to freaking pee and at this point, I was in pain. In short time, my business commenced and the relief was almost instantaneous.
When my head began to clear, it occurred to me that this stream of consciousness has been going for an impossibly long time. In fact, so much time had appeared to pass that I began to question the physical size of my bladder and how it could have accumulated such...well, you know.
I suspect that it seemed way (and I mean way) longer than it actually was but it definitely was way (and I mean way) longer than the norm and then, I received confirmation as to just how long it had been going when someone in an adjacent stall, who was seated for his duties, began to applaud and yelped, "nice job son, that's the longest constant stream I've heard in these parts in some time, perhaps ever."
Shocked, embarrassed in some odd way, and mortified but most of all, curious and I responded, "you some kind of official scorekeeper you creepy fuck, you?" "Lighten up, it's just a little bathroom humor - get it? Bathroom humor!" He jets back. "Oh brother!" I sigh and then fortunately, finish my business then off to wash my hands and get out of there hoping I could mange to do so before that crazy bastard gets out of his stall then the image of his freaky face would haunt me for the duration of my stay (and who knows how far beyond). Just as I was reaching to flush, he utters, "by the way, sorry for that." "I replied, I'd like to forget it ever happened." Then, I impulsively added, "Please stay put for the next 96 or so seconds." Almost immediately I could not believe what I was saying nor what had taken place in the last minute or so. He replied, "I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about..." before he finished, it hit me. Apparently a bomb of sort had been released from his body and without warning (that's the silent part), the entire rest room permeated in a rancid disgust.
I ran out of there without washing my hands because I was just overwhelmed with horror. As I exited, I went to the next men's room on the other side of the wall (thank heaven's for architectural symmetry) and washed my hands, taking long, deep slow breaths on the way. I gathered myself, then resumed my conference itinerary.