Get Out Your Dick

This summer was my most unforgettable yet. I went to NYC to work for a non-profit that accompanies adults with developmental disabilities on vacation trips all over the east coast. Besides meeting a slew of eclectic/unforgettable personalities and making hilarious memories, I also had the opportunity to explore arguably the greatest city in our country.

So now that I'm done with my politically correct, self-aggrandizing intro, I can continue on to the good stuff.

Within my 5 weeks spent in NY, I went on 3 5-day trips. Every trip had 3 leaders and 11 developmentally disabled participants, whom we would drive around in a 15-passenger (read: Rapist) van, along with their 5 pieces of luggage each, unnecessarily containing enough clothes and supplies to last Napolean's army through a Russian winter.

My first trip was to Maine, and by far the most memorable participant was a 6'3" Eastern European dude named "Ivica". He had a bald head, buck teeth, and thick curly hair that grew in patches on his back, surrounding a smattering of suspiciously-large moles. His favorite ritual performed before every meal was to bear hug me and tell me I looked "nice". Because why the fuck would you offer thanks to an invisible old man up in the clouds when you could show your gratitude towards the hot chick right next to you?

My second trip was to Baltimore on a "baseball roadtrip". We used the term "baseball roadtrip" loosely for, let's all slobber over Megan all weekend. Seriously, a game on the car ride home was "What was your favorite outfit of Megan's this weekend?" (My two co-leaders were, you guessed it: men)
Despite (because of?) enduring countless advances/comments from 50 year old mentally retarded men that would more than qualify for sexual harrassment, the baseball roadtrip was by far my favorite of the 3 trips.

The last, however, proved to be the most worthy of blogging about.
For a whole week, I was stuck with two obnoxious female co-leaders. One was a 6'1" German tank (weighing in at at least 250 lbs), who I had Nazi nightmares about every night we slept in the same room. ("You eat my schnitzel or I call Herr Hitler!") The other was an exasperatingly BRIGHT and HAPPY Irrrish girl, who had an distasteful affinity for Lady Gaga and never stopped consuming caffeine of some sort.

On the last day of the trip, we were driving back into the city from Massachusetts, when we landed ourselves smack in the middle of a summer downpour and back-to-back Sunday afternoon traffic. We were on i-95 coming into the George Washington Bridge, going about .25 miles an hour. One of our participants (I'll name him "John") had been complaining for some time that he had to go to the bathroom, and I could feel my own weak bladder muscles giving in to the liter of water I had downed in the past hour. Because of John's expressed urgency, (and a few failed pee-in-a-cup attempts of mine) we decided that screw it, we were pulling over on one of the busiest interstates in New York, and John and I were gonna piss on the side of the road in the pouring rain.

Goooood times.

Well, I didn't think much of it until a few days later, when I was called into the office to complete my "exit interview" at the end of my stay. Overall, the program leader had very positive things to say about my work over the past month. About 15 minutes of praise went by and then...
"So there was one thing that I wanted to ask you about...on your last trip both of your co-leaders (Nazi tank + Gaga Mick) mentioned on their evaluation sheets that you told a client to quote "Get out your dick" before peeing with him on the side of the road. Now, I wasn't there and I don't know the context, but...."

While she continued, I sat there speechless as I felt ALL the blood in my body rush up to my face. Holy. Shit. Dicks.

Although I never remember saying "get out your dick" to John, the truth was that I couldn't put it past a tired, hungry, bladder-about-to-burst Megan to say something to this effect.

Anyway, I pretended to be horrified and vehemently denied having said this... or did I? I was leaving NY that day, probably never to see this woman again...so I may, just MAY, have said something like "Well, in my defense, he was taking an awfully long time to remove his penis from his pants."

Either way, I'd like to think I left on a totally good note! Ah, they loved me.