Catheter

I went to the movies and ordered the usual $20/worth of popcorn and soda and I swear to god the soda wasn't 64 ounces, it wasn't 96 ounces, it had to be AT LEAST 128 ounces.  So here's where I made my first mistake.  I could have said to the 16-year old boy behind the counter, "Does it come with a urinal?"  Maybe we could have had a moment of male bonding.  I've got a dick, he's got a dick.  I've used a urinal, he's used a urinal, or at least he hears the word and figures it out.  But I didn't.  I asked him, "Does this come with a catheter?"  And he replies, "What's a catheter?"

Here's where I made my second mistake.  What I should have done, what YOU would have done, is say, "Never mind" and walk away.  But somewhere in the witch's brew of brain chemistry that is my combination of A.D.D. and bipolar mania (something akin to Hunter S. Thompson on drugs) it seemed entirely reasonable to *explain* it to him.  So I picked up and unwrapped a straw, and I proceeded.  And in a few seconds this curious kid who had been leaning on the counter is backing away and he's not making any sound but I can read his lips forming the word "No."  So I picked up my popcorn and my hernia-inducing soda and went into the theater, secure in the knowledge I had destroyed yet another young mind.