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The Bastard Traveler was on his way home and all he could hear was trhe hacking and whooping and sneezing of the other passengers around him, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. No one likes a sick Bastard. When the beverage cart came he asked for orange juice. The flight attendant must have felt the Bastard’s paranoid vibe becuase she brought not one, but TWO orange juices. How considerate of her. A ray of sunshine in the bleak, misearble world of coach airline travel.

So the Bastard took his sweet time drinking his orange juice, flipping through some music and trying to drown out the death rattles of those around him. When the beverage cart came back, it lightly clipped his knee in just such a way that the reflex was activated and WHAM! the knee came up to the tray, sending the OJ onto the Bastard Traveler.

It was the nearly full 2nd cup and now it was running down my shirt and was literally making its way down all the nooks and crannies of my clothes to my crotch and my ass. I was taking an assbath in orange juice and was utterly powerless. I then activated the call button, something I rarely do.

The nice lady came and when she saw me, she responded “Ohh, that’s always a bummer. I’ll get you some towels.” She brought me a big bundle of towels and I fruitlessly tried to blot up the OJ that hadn’t yet pooled around my scrotum. How fucking humiliating and miserable. The Bastard Traveler was really motherfucking pissed.

When I got home a few hours later and finally stripped down, my underwear and shirt-tails were still wet.

Lesson: Don’t get the second beverage.