In 2007 I landed a job working third shift at the most robbed gas station in Louisville Kentucky. (At the time) Three weeks before I started, the woman I was replacing was found tied up behind the register. I was a new father and desperate for work. When the job was offered to me I was like, ‘shit, sign me up!’ 95% of my customers were black. I never had any major issues, a few minor ones. But nothing too crazy for the 6-7 months I worked there. A funny story though. There was this dope boy that was a daily customer of mine. Blunt wraps and cigarettes from what I remember. His name was ‘Ro.’ That’s what he went by. He was cool to me. Always nice to me etc. my sense of humor seemed to win everyone over so this wasn’t abnormal. One day he came into the store. All smiles. He had a stack of papers in his hand. Ro was throwing a house party and I was invited. Chicken wings, hunch punch, a DJ, the works. (He had the money) He handed me one of the papers and BOOM I was invited. I was honored as fuck that he would invite me. I just work the register at some shit-hole gas station. He thought I was cool enough to invite!? Ok. I’m going. I was insanely broke at the time. I remember I would dig through the garbage cans between breaks and scan discarded scratch off tickets. I’d get a free ticket here and there. The occasional $5. One time I found a $20 winner and about lost my shit. $20 was a lot of money to me. It still is, really. So the proposition of free food and drink reeled me right in. The address was a little over a mile from my mother’s couch. I could walk it. No problem. I didn’t have a car. So this was good news. I show up and it’s a small one story house. Maybe three bedrooms and one bathroom. There was a legit DJ as promised. The chicken was gone and the hunch punch was on life support. But I had enough to get litty titty. I never saw Ro. I didn’t know anyone there. But believe it or not, it was a good time. Everybody was pretty chill and drama free. So I’m standing on the wall minding my own business when these two heavy-set black chicks approached me and told me I looked like Harry Conick Jr. (I used to ALWAYS get this from black chicks and I had ZERO idea who he even was at the time.) But anytime a black chick would approach me they’d say, ‘you know who you look like?’ And I could finish their sentence. ‘Harry Conick Jr.’ ‘Yeahhhhh!’ So I’m talking to these two big girls and they were actually super nice. They were flirting HARD. Definitely wanted some cream in their coffee. So I’m kind of feeding into it. The music is blaring. People are chilling, dancing, etc. It’s a good time. These girls were 3’s at best. But like I said, they were nice so I was flirting back. All of a sudden I had to fart. There was cigarette and blunt smoke everywhere. I had 100% confidence I could pull this off with a trace of evidence, so I go ahead and sneakily try to let one rip. Bro. I felt liquid surge down my inner right leg. And it immediately hit me. I. Just. Shit. My. Pants. This had never happened to me in my entire life at this point so I just bee-lined for the door. I’m out. I’m gone. I’m drunk. I shit my pants at a house party. Life is kicking my ass. I remember that I had all cognitive ability but my motor skills were FUCKED. I was walking like Bambi with shit in my pants at 3am in Louisville Kentucky. How I didn’t get picked up by police is a fucking miracle to me. Ole shit pants McGee out for a drunken stroll at 3am. I dunno. Just thought I’d share. Believe in your dreams.