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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on January 13th, 2015, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 15, Issue 45 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 15, Issue 45

Knock-knock. Who is it? Mr. P.

By ROB KRIDER

I  rang in the 2015 New Year with Britney Spears and some urine. No, the two details of my New Year’s celebration were not in any way connected. I don’t think Britney is into that sort of thing (and honestly I’m not either). Britney was simply a part of my New Year’s party because my wife, whom I really, really, love, bought me tickets to see Britney’s show Piece of Me at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas. Yes, my wife is a keeper. For Christmas she gave me the gift of Britney Spears half naked, sweating on stage and dancing for me for an hour and half. Yes, she was dancing for me, not the other 4,000 audience members. And no, there was no peeing. That came later in our evening.

New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas is a spectacle all should attend at least one time in their lives. The city closes the strip to vehicular traffic and opens the streets for pedestrians to revel and party the night away. My wife and I stood on Las Vegas Boulevard with thousands of partiers and watched as the sky erupted into fireworks at midnight. Seven of the casinos blasted their roofs off with pyrotechnics in a choreographed display that only Las Vegas can do right. People were allowed to drink alcohol in the street and they did—a lot. But even with all of the drinking in the streets, there still is no pee in the story yet.


Nevada is an interesting state: Gambling and prostitution are legal, and you can drink alcohol in the streets, but DO NOT USE A GLASS CONTAINER because that is a Nevada felony. I may, or may not, have found this out the hard way. Everything at this point is still alleged because I haven’t been tried in a court of law yet, had a chance to see all of the evidence against me, nor had the opportunity to face the witnesses who may testify that I, allegedly, had a glass beer bottle in my hand while standing on Las Vegas Boulevard on New Year’s Eve. I can tell you this, my wife, whom I love, had a glass beer bottle in her hand, no doubt about it. Then she asked me to hold it for her so she could put on some Chapstick. Being a gentleman, I obliged. This occurred about two seconds before the Las Vegas Metro Police Department showed up. No, I didn’t pee my pants. The urine comes later in the story, and it wasn’t Britney’s, and it wasn’t mine either.

After midnight, my wife and I headed back to our hotel, while holding beers in Nevada-approved official plastic containers. We were staying at the New York-New York Hotel and Casino, a semi-grand Vegas hotel themed to look like New York City, complete with a Statue of Liberty and Brooklyn Bridge. We headed up to our room on the 12th floor and snuggled in for a good night’s rest after an awesome evening of Britney Spears and an awesome fireworks display. We were just about to fall asleep when the pounding on our door started. I thought, “Britney, is that you?” Then I thought, “Las Vegas Metro Police Department? I used a plastic cup, I swear!”

The pounding was loud and menacing. It scared me and my wife half to death. There was no reason somebody should be hammering on our door. They wouldn’t quit. I jumped out of bed, standing in my underwear and looked through the peep hole. What I saw was a very intoxicated man knocking on my door with anger and a very frustrated girl trying to handle her drunk boyfriend, husband, baby-daddy—I’m not sure of the details of their love affair. I yelled out, “You have the wrong room, dude!”

Looking through the peep hole I could see the girl was pulling money out of her wallet. She yelled back to me, “I’ll give you ten dollars!”

Ten dollars for what? I didn’t want to know. I yelled back, “It ain’t gonna happen, go away. This isn’t your room!”

The drunk man started pounding on the door again, even angrier. He was determined to get into our room. I looked back at my wife who was sitting on the bed using the sheets to protect herself from this menace at our door. The drunk guy started yelling again, “Let me in, or I’m going to piss on your door!”

This angered me greatly. No way was I going to let someone urinate on my hotel room door. What has this world come to? I started to use my scariest tough guy voice (it is a total fake) and screamed back, “If you pull down your pants I will come outside and … oh my God!”

Before I could even fake threaten castration I could hear the sound of pee hitting my door. I jumped back and saw, to my horror, the carpet under the door getting darker as it soaked up urine. It was disgusting. I stood there in complete shock. My wife, the female, the smart one, didn’t yell and scream at an unreasonable drunk person through a locked door. She picked up the phone and called security. “Yes, I’m in room 1231. There is a person banging on my door, and now he is urinating on it.”

Once I heard the sound of a stream of fluid hitting the door stop, I peeked back through peep hole and saw the girlfriend, wife, baby-momma (I still don’t know her role in this) take out a $10 bill. She started to say, “I’m going to leave this on the floor for your trouble!” Then Mr. Pee on Your Door told her, “Don’t leave them any money. They didn’t want to let me use their bathroom, screw them.” Then they walked away, leaving me stuck in my room for fear to touch the urine stained door.

And that was my New Year’s Eve. Britney Spears, pee, and the worst knock-knock joke I ever had to experience. Hello 2015!

Rob has postulated that New York-New York is trying so hard to make the casino feel just like New York they are having patrons urinate in the halls to get that big city smell just right. If you enjoy Rob’s storytelling check out his novel Cadet Blues on Amazon.com.




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