To the staff of that lovely Fremont pub: I am SO sorry. One year ago, I shit all over your men's bathroom. It's only now that I have the courage to issue this apology. Know that it wasn't intentional and it wasn't a result of drinking too much. It happened like lightning. Standing, drinking a beer, BAM—I just HAD to go. I rushed to the men's bathroom only to find the one stall occupied by a guy taking a piss. A PISS! I tried holding it in, I really did, but as I waited endlessly, I tried to relieve the pressure by letting out a fart. Bad idea. I lost control, semi-liquid poop slowly oozing down my pants and into my socks and shoes.

By the time I got into the stall, much of the damage had been done, but more followed. I tried calmly flicking my soiled underwear and socks into a corner to clean up the mess on my legs and ass. But in doing so, I just flung more shit across the bathroom stall. Patrons came and went, and I could hear their dry coughs and gags.

So I panicked. Once I got my pants back on, I made a beeline for the door, abandoning the socks, undies, and mess. Out of shame, that will probably be the last time I come to your beloved pub. I can only imagine the expression on your staff member's face when he or she walked in after closing. The stall must've looked like a shit-ridden tsunami washed through. Just know that if I could give you an amazing tip without getting beaten, I would.