Fun with elevators

Sorry folks, work is busy and will be for the rest of the month, plus I have been working on the Two Point Conversion (so check that out) with Luke, and in the words of Kevan Barlow "He's like working with Hitler," but I will get back to regular and better columns soon.

And here we go...

Early this morning I was at work, catching up on some stuff from last week. Finding myself a little parched, I went down to the deli that is on the first floor of the building. Now, usually the nice people of Murphy's Deli are great with their service, that is, if by great service you mean lots of yelling, mediocre food, and the always greater than zero chance that they are out of what you want, but I eat there anyways because I basically have no other options unless I want to walk across the street, and laziness prevents that from happening. So I go in for my typical Full Throttle energy drink and some sort of egg and cheese-based breakfast that will undoubtedly come back to haunt me in 25 years. Something was different though. Not about the deli, but about me. I wanted something new. I wanted a Powerade.

Wait, wait, wait. Don't start preaching me on the wretchedness of Powerade and the greatness of Gatorade. Fear not because I am with you folks. Powerade is terrible, but it was my only option at the deli; and the deli is my only option for food so I had no choice (remember we covered this: I am too lazy to do anything else). So I was stuck with Powerade. Well that's a lie. I had a choice: Lemon-lime or fruit punch? I went with the always tasty Lemon-lime, you would have too.

(What is it about Lemon-lime that everyone likes? I mean it's not my favorite flavor in the world, but it seems that everyone on Earth drinks lemon-lime sports drinks over anyother flavor. Is this only in America or do they prefer orange in China? Does anyone know the answer to this? I need to know these things.

Also, I don't know one person who's favorite flavor is lemon-lime, yet we all go nuts for this stuff. I can't think of one other thing that works this way with the possible exception of Tom Cruise movies. We will never learn with those, will we?)

Anyways, I take my lemon lime Powerade and drink down a good portion of it fulfilling my thirst, and head back towards the elevators to return to work. I attempt another swig as I climb on, but somehow misjudged the distance from the open end of the bottle to my mouth, and shorted the attempt by about three full inches. Like a waterfall of electrolytes, it spilled down onto my shiny work clothes. Crap. I decided to survey the damage. Miraculously, my shirt was untouched. Unfortunately my pants had a nice little wet mark running down the front of them. Oh well, at least my pants are dark, so no one will be able to see a stain.

Moving on with my life, I lean back against the wall of the elevator and hold my nearly empty Powerade behind my back, inadvertently hiding it from view. Don't ask why I am telling you this. Just trust me, this is important.

Shortly before the doors close, two women and a man step on the elevator. I noticed their horrified looks, but really didn't think anything of it. I mean come on, how can I worry about them when my pants are wet and I have...oh crap...I realized what they are horrified about. They walked on the elevator to see a guy staring at a trickling wet mark down the front of his pants and no bottle in sight for a visual explanation. What was worse was that I then saw the small yellow puddles on the floor by my feet made by the Powerade. Great. So here I am looking like a complete fool, stumbling for something to say, while they look at each other nodding back at me ever so slightly with a "Oh my God, don't look now, but I think that dude just pissed himself like five seconds ago" look on their faces.

I frantically wondered if its socially acceptable to explain this to them right there, or if I just have to take the bullet on this one? I said to hell with it a made an attempt. Time, unfortunately was not on my side. As I raised the Powerade to show that I did, indeed, have control of my bladder the elevator opened and they walked away.

And yes, they were giggling.

Did they know that I didn't really wet myself at work? Hopefully, but it still sucks. Anyways, I blame the entire thing on Powerade, this would have never happened with Gatorade. Never.

GMJ: I know this is late, but Gary Matthews, Jr. hit for the cycle last week. Not just the cycle, but the "natural cycle." No, no, no. Not that "natural cycle," we're talking baseball here. GMJ hit a single, double, triple, and home run in that order. That's incredible. The list of players who have hit for the cycle is short, but the list of players who have hit for the natural cycle is even shorter. Hats off to GMJ.

While we are talking about him, I think its imperative for the Rangers to re-sign Matthews after this season. And I'm not talking "Hey we are astronauts and we just lost two bolts that hold this damn shuttle together, but lets try to land this thing anyways" imperative. I'm talking "hey we are astronauts and we just lost two bolts, so you better come pick us the fuck up!" imperative. The Rangers always need two things, pitching and a centerfielder. As most of us have seen from his personal highlight show called, SportsCenter, the Rangers have centerfield covered with Matthews. And yet, I somehow feel they will screw this up.

Drew: I know its been awhile since I mentioned Drew, but I think it would be uncouth if I didn't mention that he passed out in the bed of our buddy Joel's truck after watching SMU thrash SHSU 42-7. Well, I'm not sure he watched all the game, but he was certainly there for it. I think he stopped paying attention to what was going on after I took his thunderstix away from him. I think I was more than justified though; he was prodding me in the face with them and yelling at me to get up and cheer. It was halftime.

Well, little Drew fell asleep and unknowingly posed for some great pictures with us all, before Luke decided that it would be a great idea to move Drew from Joel's truck to someone else's. Didn't matter whom, just someone else's truck. Gold. We rushed put there, picked him up, and carried him to the back end of the parking lot where we laid him down in a black truck whose owner was unknown to us.

About fifteen minutes later we found out that it was the security guard's truck, and were forced to move him to another truck. Drew slurred some words and laid down. Then without warning, he jumped up and ran into Pluckers to get some wings. Drew, I will never understand you.