Wash Your Pants

For another account of the following events, check it out here.

So I'm in my room studying for an exam. Next thing you know, my friend knocks on my door and says "My friend (let's call him "Jackson") just posted on his Facebook status that he's in the engineering building and some tall nerdy dude just turned on a computer and is watching porn." I thought, "Hm...that's odd." My friend adds, "I commented 'pics or it didn't happen' and he replied 'he's still doing it.'"

The first instinct isn't "Fucking ew." The first instinct is "INVESTIGATE." I promptly change into street clothes and put on shoes as fast as I can. I grab my digital camera.

We rush outside. We try to work out the quickest way there. We figure it out and head that way. On the way there, we run into a guy (let's call him "Johnny") outside the engineering building where the lab is smoking a cigarette. He says, "Hey, what's up?" We quickly and hurriedly reply "Uh...we're real busy. Catch you later."

On the way to the lab, my friend jokingly says "What if it was 'Johnny?'" I dismiss this. When we get there, "Jackson" tells us, in some graphic detail (too graphic for this somewhat family blog) what he did and where he did it. I see the computer he was at.

Why is this important? Because here, when you leave your terminal for a while and you're still logged in, the computer "locks" and it says "This computer has been locked by [so and so]."

So naturally, when I see the exact computer, I immediately think "A-HA! I can see who it is!" So I walk over to check it out to see who it is, out of curiosity. And I see the name. No. It's..."Johnny." No. No. The guy we saw outside smoking a cigarette. No. No. No. A guy my friend and I BOTH KNOW. No. No. No. NO!!!

I am not prepared for this. I was expecting some pale mouthbreather that you'd see outside the lone adult movie theater in the Fells Point neighborhood in Baltimore on a Sunday afternoon wearing a trench coat and rubber boots, or perhaps one of those guys on To Catch a Predator. That I could've expected. This...this is too too much for me.

Bells and whistles are going off in my head like none other. It's like freaking Notre Dame in Paris during a wedding up there. I have information that I can't just divulge. I can't just belt out "'Johnny' was just squeezing the cream out of his eclair" in public. No. I must privately tell my friends the ridiculous mind-blowing news.

Then, all of a sudden, "Johnny" comes back into the computer lab. Oh no. Johnny sees me at his terminal. I have the information and my friend, "Jackson," and "Jackson's" friend don't have the information. I have to make it back. I am caught snooping for evidence. This cannot go down with me. It must be known.

"Hey," I think. "I think he might not have noticed me. I can make a break for it." Which is what I did. "Johnny" took a step. I took a step. "Johnny" took a step. I took a step. We match each other step for step.

I manage to get back just as he gets to his terminal. The horror and shock engulfs me. This man had been touching himself in public inches from where I had just stood. A man that I know. The look of horror on my friend's face is evident as well.

We promptly leave to go outside and proceed to giggle our asses off. We recount our own "touching" stories. I mention I saw some fellow watch porn on his laptop in class while there was a film being shown.

When we return, "Johnny" is at it again. The video chat is fully on. There's some scantily clad ho on the screen doing things. His eyes are glued to the gyrations and self-caresses on the screen. I watch in horror and amusement. He gets excited and starts giggling himself. I can't stop laughing and giggling. I snort in a futile effort to stifle my amusement. I cough to cover it up. My throat is sore.

Another stranger is party to what is going on. "Johnny" is to this stranger's right hand side as he's, um, well, stretching the Johnson out. He hasn't looked to his right in about an hour. He looks horrified. I feel sympathy for him.

I decide to try to get a picture. Problem is that the camera makes noise when it takes a picture. So I step out of the lab to turn on the silent mode. I take a test picture of a sign. Quiet as a pin dropping. Perfect. I am going to win some sort of unofficial Pulitzer for this. Or at least have it put on CollegeHumor.

I go inside to try for the perfect angle without being too obvious to anyone else. I jostle, I fidget, I maneuver any which way to get the perfect angle of what's going on. No such luck. I just got cheated out of the image of the week: a dude yanking his doodle in public. My career as a photojournalist got cut short by my desire to remain incognito, much like some wildlife expert in the savanna, observing the wildlife in as undisturbed of an environment as possible.

Eventually "Johnny" gets wise to our leering eyes, and he throws up MATLAB as a cover. Just tosses it up and acts like he's working, when in actuality he's just moving the mouse around and pretending to work as a stalling tactic so he can go back to "Fantasy Sparkles" get her groove on in cyberspace. We sit there for a bit longer, and me and my friend decide to leave.

My friend and I are in amazement that the guy would continue to patron the virtual services of that nature even after he was clearly busted, literally, with his pants down. We both know that "Johnny" has a computer in his room.

Now I have watched a New York Giants game on the school computers. That was when my laptop was busted. But I don't exactly look at dirty pictures on the computers, nor do I decide to unzip and let it fly.

This leaves us with the only conclusion: he's gone from weird fucking dude to...public pervert.

Now do not question my morals here. I just put myself on the line for the public good. You're welcome.

Which leaves us with this question: How much was he paying for this?

(some identities changed to protect the real people. yes this happened. you cannot make shit like this up.)