Um ... Where'd You Say the Bathroom Was?

This story begins on the balmy beaches of Acapulco, Mexico during the shooting of one of the many physically competitive/ booze and sex-fest type shows that are set in places like ... well, Acapulco. If you've ever worked on one of these shoots, you know that the crew tends to party harder than the cast during off-hours. For whatever reason, the director of this show had carte blanche to fuck up in any variety of ways and had built himself a reputation of staying fairly well-marinated even during shooting hours. And so it goes.

On this particular night we were dancing and drinking the night away in the club located on the first floor of our resort. I was standing near the bar having a drink and chatting with the art director as she felt a splash hit her arm. We both turned towards the bar to find the source of the splash. What my eyes fell upon was the aforementioned director standing in front of the bar, dick-in-hand, pissing all over it. I didn't know whether to throw something at him or laugh hysterically. I opted for the latter. Of course, the art director was totally horrified. She wanted to approach her director, but he was too fucking wasted to even realize he wasn't at the damn urinal. I wish there was a good post-script to this, but the director got off scot-free, even though this story made the rounds several times during the rest of the shoot. I guess those other rumors of him banging the exec of the company weren't totally unfounded. There's ONE way of making it in this business ...