Not the good kind where Irish, Scotsmen and Englishmen go. No, the grill bars of a piss trough.
For you ladies not in the know a piss trough is where us lads stand to go our onesies. The one at my work has a grill to allow drops to fall through from when you're finished (and start) but prevents your feet from actually touching the metal of the trough beneath. The one at my work also flushes less frequently to save water so has the added advantage of increasing the delightful heady smell of urine within the vicinity. Which, if like me you're in there for long periods either chucking up, straining one out or escorting in electricians to change the light bulbs, can be a right pain in the nostrils.
While I was using the trough I had my Mp3 player out. No, it's not what I call my penis. It's my actual music listening device. I was thumbing on the unit so I could pick up where I left off with round 10 of 100 objects.
I have a poor grip. I always have done. I never liked guitar or playing the piano as a result of it because I suffer discomfort when trying to do anything with my fingers more intricate than two-finger typing. I frequently drop things. It's annoying. It's one of the few things that will spark off a 'OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE' from me. Okay ... one of the many. But if I drop something then I get irritated.
I dropped my Mp3 player.
It swung for a small pulse of time from the ear phone jack before kinetic forces caused it to break free and drop with precision through the bars of the piss trough grill. The Mp3 landed on its back on the tidal flats of fading urine, the scrolling red characters on the LCD winking up at me.
I had to lift up the grill, gingerly pick up the player and go wipe it off.
You know what ... the sheer scale of the maximum drop fail apart from something expensive and/or alive deserves another eruption.
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.