During the summer of 2000, I took an international arbitration course in Linz, Austria. As I’ve revealed before, I can have an occasional problem with stage fright at the pisser, though it tends to be less of an issue when I’m around strangers and am drinking, so one would think the affliction would go into remission while in a foreign country, right?
One evening after dinner and a beer or two, I walked into the restroom and up to the urinal to begin eliminating some toxins. I glanced to my left, and an old man–a local–was at the urinal, also doing what he was supposed to be doing at the urinal, but he was not looking down to monitor his progress: he was monitoring mine instead.
I felt my face become flush. I slowly looked over at him. He just smiled and continued staring at my johnson. I finished and cleared my throat a little. He looked up at my face and saw my discomfort.
Then he opened his mouth, smiled, and, in a think German accent, uttered two words:
No stress? Are you fucking kidding me, you wrinkled old Nazi pervert?
Not knowing what to say or do at this point, I sprinted out, sans handwashing, and told everyone at my table what had just happened, so that they could:
1) laugh at me for a solid 5 minutes without ceasing and
2) use “No stress” as a battle cry, greeting, or conversation lull-filler for the remainder of our course there.
From that evening on, as long as I was in Austria, I peed in a stall. With the door shut. And locked.