A Brief Anecdote

A Note from Fatty: Tomorrow is the last day of the raffles for the Shimano Dura-Ace Wheelset of your choice and the Masi Soulville 10. If you’ve joined Team Fatty but have a balance of $0 in your fundraising page, you should definitely either lean on friends and family or open your own wallet before the end of Friday. Because you can’t win if you haven’t got a ticket. And you get a ticket for every $5.00 you’ve got in your fundraising page.

If you’re not a member of Team Fatty, you can still win a chance — ’til end of day Friday — at the Shimano Dura-Ace Wheelseta $2000 value — by donating at my Fundraising page. Click here to do it now.

Shaggy Dog Prologue

Really, this post doesn’t belong on my blog, at least as my blog’s mission statement was originally defined.

What, you didn’t know my blog has a mission statement? Of course my blog has a mission statement. Every popular and successful blog has a mission statement. If your blog doesn’t isn’t popular and doesn’t have a mission statement, that probably explains why your blog is not popular. Write a mission statement, adhere to it, and watch your traffic explode (not literally, because that would be both gross and deadly).

For your information, here is the Fat Cyclist Mission Statement:

Fat Cyclist Mission: To provide synergistic excellence through the medium of a holistic and collaborative approach to the creation and extrapolation of (usually self-deprecating) cycling community comedy. Means toward this end include but are not limited to: anecdotal recitation, weight jokes, fake news, ad analysis, petulance, open letters, gushing and absurd praise of things that may or not be praiseworthy (or may be praiseworthy but for reasons other than the received praise), and the occasional limerick. Also, to promote mayonnaise as the best condiment ever.

Truth be told, however, I think it’s safe to say that my blog has been off-mission for quite some time. I do not apologize, but I hereby commit to, in the near future, revising my mission statement to include my expanded focus.

Of course, some of you may be wondering what other cycling blogs have mission statements. Well, I think I can quite nicely prove my point — that a good mission statement can give focus and ensure popularity to a blog — by citing the mission statement for Bike Snob NYC:

Bike Snob NYC Mission: To write 50 words more than the previous day; to read, dissect and ridicule every Craigslist post ever written; and to confound fixie hipsters by making them forever uncertain whether to be flattered or insulted when featured. Or both. Also, to be very, very anonymous, so people won’t find out that he is actually Greg Lemond.

Anyway, this post — the part I’m about to write, not the part I’ve already written — doesn’t even fit within my soon-to-be-revised blog mission. Curiously, however, it does fit nicely within my friend Dug’s blog mission:

Dug’s Blog Mission: To explore every nook and cranny of scat humor.

It’s a worthy mission, and I think Dug’s blog will go far.

And now, 4000 words into today’s post, I am ready to describe yesterday’s event. Which, if you reach waaaay back into your memory, you will recall I mentioned would fit nicely in Dug’s blog.

At Long Last, the Anecdote

I work at home three days out of the week. This lets me stay close to Susan. However, my job has me on the phone pretty often, making it so I am not able to come to the door easily. Thus, I have instructed the nurses who stop by from time to time to just come on in.


Yesterday, following a long phone conference, I quickly ran downstairs to see how Susan was doing. As I ran through my list of things I always check on — does she need anything to eat or drink, is her oxygen tube crimp-free, are her legs comfortable, does she need to be shifted to a different position — I became acutely aware of the fact that during the prior 90 minute conference call, I had consumed roughly 1.5 litres of Diet Coke (with Lime, but the lime is not relevant to the story. Pay no attention to the lime.).

Clearly, it was time for me to use the restroom. Luckily, we have a restroom just outside the room (formerly the living room) where we have Susan’s bed set up. This restroom is also just off the entryway.

Do I even need to finish this anecdote? No? Well, I’m going to anyway.

Of course, since this was during school hours and Susan and I were the only ones home (and it’s not like Susan was going to come invade my privacy), there was no need whatsoever for me to close the door to the restroom.

So I didn’t.

No sooner had I embarked upon my moment of blessed relief, however, than the front door opened, and — naturally — in walked a nurse.

Now, the truth is, this anecdote could have ended quite uneventfully. The nurse would be walking from the entry to the living room, and would not be passing the restroom. Unless I did something stupid, she would not see me at all.

Let me reiterate: in order for me to remain unseen, all I had to do was just keep peeing. My best course of action was to make no change to my course of action.

Before I continue, I need to make three contextual points:

  • The restroom door swings out of the restroom, so that when open, the doorknob is nicely visible from the entryway.
  • As I stood and faced the toilet, the door was on my left.
  • While I am generally right-handed, I am not right-handed for certain activities. I have no explanation for this, and do not wish to elaborate further.

Not wanting to disappoint the thousands of people who would feel hurt and slightly betrayed if I were to behave rationally, I engaged, rapidfire, in the below sequence of events:

  1. With my right hand, I reached left, stretching for the doorknob. It was too far.
  2. I continued to pee.
  3. I leaned left, reaching with my right hand, trying to get to the doorknob.
  4. I continued to pee.
  5. I made a magnificent effort, leaning and pivoting hard left, while reaching with my right.
  6. I continued to pee.
  7. I exposed myself to the nurse.
  8. I made an inarticulate, strangling, gurgling sound, meant to convey surprise, embarrassment, and an apology for having greeted her in this manner.
  9. Also, I peed on the floor of the entryway. And on the wall of the bathroom.
  10. Finally — after what seemed like days of peeing and self-exposing — I reached the doorknob and closed the door.

You may be interested to know that, so great is my humiliation, that I have not since exited the bathroom.

I am not certain that I ever will.

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