Steve was minding his own business when THEY stormed in.
The man was first. He was fuming.
“Just stop following me!”
The woman, well, followed him into the room.
“Let’s talk about this,” she pleaded.
“Listen, Slutty McSlutterton, I don’t give a flying flame-throwing fuck what you have to say on the subject,” he hissed.
Steve looked for a way out.
“I wish you could take the high road on this,” she said calmly.
“High ROAD? HIGH road?”
“Yes. And now that you’ve stressed each word individually, can we calm down?”
“No!” He yelled. “There is no calming down here. I’m sick of you and other guys–“
“You know that they mean nothing to me–“
“You were giving him a lap dance!”
“Listen, a good lap dance is like art. It is a skill and–“
“You aren’t even a stripper!!”
“Well, yeah, there’s that…”
Steve cleared his throat, but was ignored.
“People told me that you were a tramp. I told them that you were just misunderstood. “
“But now that you’ve gone down on everything but the Titanic…”
“That’s not fair.”
“Listen… We’re done. There is nothing that you can say to change my mind.”
She walked up to him and whispered in his ear. His eyes bulged. He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. They kissed and groped each other like drunken 15 year olds for what seemed like an eternity to Steve.
“Fine. Let’s go home. But, NEXT time… we’re done,” he said.
“Sure, sweetie,” she purred as they walked out.
Steve looked around, still in shock at what he had witnessed.
Then he zipped up and stepped away from the urinal.