So I hershey squirted on the way to work this morning. Just as I got on the freeway. Couldn’t turn around. I just sped to work as fast as possible with my ass clenched thinking: I’ll pop in the (shared) restroom and rapidly clean myself up, throw out the boxers, and commando it at work. Should be fine, as long as I’m alone in the can.
I get in– there’s no parking, but I figure it out. Get in the can. Lo and behold there is an extremely dignified elderly man in a bespoke London tailor type suit meticulously cleaning his contact lenses in the sink. So I have to go in the stall and pretend like I’m just taking a shit till he leaves.
This man was very fastidious about slowly cleaning his contact lenses. Finally he leaves. I clean up– situation is not nearly as bad as I thought. Boxers were not even streaked. But I’m still pissed, frustrated– now running late for a very important day at work. So as I’m leaving the stall I’m loudly cursing and muttering, “JESUS MOTHERFUCKING FUCK, OF COURSE, THE ONE DAY I FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS THERE’S NO GODDAMN PARKING AND FUCKING GEORGE PLIMPTON IS PERFORMING SURGERY ON HIS MOTHERFUCKING CONTACTS…”
And I leave the restroom. And standing RIGHT OUTSIDE the door is Julia Roberts.
delicioustacos 
So, did you get her number?