I was peed on. I can freely admit it. After a long day of set-up at the North American Christian Convention in Indianapolis, I was unfortunately saturated while walking back to my automobile. And, yes, the offender was female. As a simple Tweet cannot properly explain this situation, and because many have doubted that this is a true story, I've decided to relate the story in detail with the assistance of visual aids. You see, as I waited for our moving truck at the end of the convention, I took the opportunity to return to the crime scene and snap some photos on my phone. Sometimes, seeing is believing. So journey back with me, won't you?
At approximately 4pm on Monday July 5th I was walking south from the Indianapolis Convention Center towards a parking lot adjacent to the Lucas Oil Stadium. This path took me underneath a set of train tracks. Image 1 will give you a view of the trek back to my Explorer.
Note the large building in the right side of the photograph. It is a power plant that is very loud, and passing underneath the bridge meant that I couldn't have heard my attacker even if they were brazen about their actions.
At the time, I was searching for directions on my iPhone; I was spending the night with my sister and her family and I've only been there a few times. Thus, I was both walking and typing in my phone and my eyes were focused downward. This is why when I felt some wetness on my arm, I originally thought nothing of it; all my city marathon training has ingrained in me the fact that underpasses usually drip water. But I noticed that I was no longer under a bridge, but at the separation point between two bridges, as you can see in Image 2.
It was at this moment that I was again sprinkled. Noticing that I was no longer under a bridge, and thinking it could actually be starting to rain, I glanced up.
And a saw a moon.
But it was the afternoon.
And therefore it wasn't THE moon.
No, it was a woman in her twenties using the bathroom.
On me.
I will refrain on going into further detail as to why I know this was a young woman. I'm just asking that you trust me on this one.
For the remainder of this retelling, I will refer to the woman as Cynthia Story—Cindy for short. Why, you ask? Because the following graffiti was etched into the bridge where the crime was committed. In my mind, this is Cindy's regular restroom spot and she has claimed it by engraving her name into the nearby steel.
The question that looms large here is why was Cindy using the bathroom in public and, specifically, on me? As I revisited the scene of the crime, I think I have figured this out.
Cindy really had to go. We've all been there, right? It's usually much easier for men to participate in public urination and Cindy was faced with a problem: where could she go where she wouldn't be seen? Somehow, she made her way to these railroad tracks and took solace in the space between two bridges. From ground level, she would have been obscured from sight. No one would have known. And to fully understand this, observe Image 4 and her perch:
Cindy was facing a concrete wall with barrier to the right and left on her. While she thought she was hidden, her rear end was fully exposed to the sidewalk below. I'm sure when she first began doing her business, she looked to the ground seeing only roadway. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When I finally realized what was happening, all I could think to do was yell "HEY!" at Cindy. She was obviously startled and fled immediately. I didn't bother to chase her down; what would I have done anyway? I drove the entire trip to suburban Indianapolis with my arm extended. Upon arriving at her house, my sister insisted I take a shower immediately. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY
Believe it or not, I wasn't that angry about the entire situation. Sure, there are moments in life where we feel like were getting . . . well . . . that we have our own personal Cindy's who are doing their business upon us. In the past few years of my life, I've felt this way many-a-time. So when this happened literally, all I could do was laugh. I've been milking this story for a week now.
It was just a good reminder for me not to take things too seriously. I tend to do that more than I usually admit. I'm not sure if I'm completely reformed, but I'm getting there.
And no matter how much some of you reading this dislike Cincinnati, I've never been peed on here. Thanks, Indianapolis.
One of the blessings of my previous class at Xavier was the freedom to choose our own subjects for papers. Fortunately, my class was on views of the Trinity, so I tailor-made one of my papers so that I could read and examine The Shack.