At Least it wasn't on the Third Rail...

I almost forgot about this particular gem from last night. Heather and I were on the Redline, coming home from the game when suddenly Heather nudged me out of my near-sleep and says, "You might want to move your feet."

"Huh?" I ask, as streams of an unidentified liquid come rolling down the isle of the car, channeled by the little grooves in the floor.

"That guy just pissed himself," she says, and nods towards the shifty looking old black guy at the front of the car, who later lurches up and stagers drunkenly to another seat, and then finally, by bracing himself laterally against any and everyone, to the back of the car for no good reason. But then again, I guess his seat was prolly a little wet.

The charming gentleman then proceeded to follow us out of the train at our stop, causing Heather to descend the station stairs more quickly than any 3 flights of stairs in her entire life. I had to chuckle a little, because while he might not have known that he was peeing down his own leg on a train, he somehow seemed to know that the only way he was going to get his shaky ass down any stairs was to fall down them face first, and so he lingered on the platform while we fled.

Lovely.

.