Friday started out perfectly. My professional movers arrived on time at 8:30. I opened the storage unit and they quickly loaded my belongings into a giant truck. We arrived at my new apartment building at the stroke of 9, the exact time the leasing office opened, and the lovely Laura handed me the keys. The cable tech had arrived for the install at 8:30, and (shockingly) patiently waited for me to arrive. The three man moving crew efficiently placed the boxes in their destinations. By 10, they were gone, internet was fully operational, and emails had been answered. Right on time, the smoking hot hippie chick I hired on TaskRabbit arrived to unpack my belongings walked in. By 11, my kitchen was unpacked and organized, my bedroom was put together, and the cable was fully functional. I hopped in the shower and even made it to the office before our catered Friday lunch arrived at noon.
I was on top of the world.
After hammering out some work, our boss released us early for the long holiday weekend. I was flying out Saturday morning, so I planned to order pizza, crack a few beers and relax before my head hit the pillow in my new apartment.
I moved to town a few weeks before for a new gig, and had been crashing at my parents’ while waiting for my apartment to become available. So Friday after work, I went to my folks’ to pack up my clothes and belongings before returning to my apartment to enjoy a delivery pizza in the privacy of my own home like a grown-ass man.
But I never got to enjoy that pizza.
There was a tangible anxiety in the air at the parents’ house. Separation anxiety was apparent (from them) as they asked me repeatedly to reconsider the move. After the sixth (totally serious) request, I retreated to my room and hurriedly tried to grab as much as possible to escape and never to return.
The car was totally packed. I walked back inside the house for a final time to use the bathroom. Then it happened. As I unzipped, I felt a paralyzing feeling. My penis was stuck in my zipper.
My first instinct was to try and consider what had just happened. I was wearing Chubbies and, of course, going commando. I got caught on the down zip. Could I just “unzip” it? Is this really happening? I stood paralyzed by fear for a moment. I looked down to assess the situation and realized there was no blood. I felt surprisingly little pain. Then the anxiety came over me. My dick was trapped in a claustrophobic nightmare.
I moved slowly at first and tried to stay calm while I called out to my mother. “Mom, where’s Dad? Will you send him in here… now?”
When my father arrived, he knew something was very wrong.
“I’ve zipped my penis.”
A look of fear and horror overwhelmed his face. We retreated to the bathroom, where I showed him the damage. After telling him about what happened and the current status, I reached for my iPhone and Googled “penis in zipper.”
In a power ranking of things you wish never to Google, “penis in zipper” sits pretty close to the top.
The results ranged from harrowing to semi-assuring. One article said that soaking the area in mineral oil for 15-20 minutes might naturally slide the skin out of the zipper’s teeth. My father ran to his bathroom and returned with baby oil. Soon my bathroom smelled like backstage at the Mr. Olympia contest, as I poured half a bottle all over my trapped affected unit.
My father got me a pair of scissors, and I managed to cut off my beloved chubbies. Only the zipper remained. In the background, I could hear my mother questioning him about what was going on. My anxiety level increased.
It became clear that the baby oil strategy was not creating any release. He grabbled my cell phone and started looking for other solutions. He claimed that by using wire cutters, we could release the zipper, and perhaps unzip the zipper, and naturally release the pinched dick. He retreated to the garage, and in rapid succession, he returned with a series of rusted yard tools. This still very much haunts my memory.
I grabbed the sharpest of the bunch and very carefully grabbed a hold of the zipper with a set of sharp pliers. I knew all along that these were not the kind of wire cutters needed for such an escape, but I held out hope that a quick snip would cause an instant release and the end of my long nightmare.
My hands were covered in baby oil, and I was more than a little shaky. After trying a couple of tools, I told the old man to call the emergency room near his house and talk with a doctor. He agreed. The doctor on call said he had dealt with this scenario before, but not since he’d been working at this emergency room. The doctor told my dad he was speaking with the janitor to find the tools necessary to solve the problem. He would call back in ten minutes.
In order to free my dick, a professional doctor with years of experience needed some high school dropout with a giant, jingling key chain to find a set of wire cutters. This did not make me feel better. But the alternative was worse. I trusted a trained surgeon more than my slippery hands.
I told the old man to find a pair of sweatpants and start the car. We were going to the emergency room.
When I arrived, they were waiting for me. My parents live the suburbs, and the emergency room was totally empty at 7:30 on Friday night. A female doctor walked me into a room and inspected the damage. I did not feel that she handled the situation with the amount of gentleness it required.
Finally, the other doctor arrived. While I closed my eyes, two doctors and a nurse cut the bottom of the zipper and slowly unzipped it. Then they clipped the top of the zipper and unzipped the other end. All that was left was the two teeth, held in place by the skin of my penis.
Doc warned me that he’d have to yank it, as they had done all they could to remove the zipper. He warned me there would be a small tear and some blood. Then he asked if I wanted an antiseptic to numb the area before he tore it out. Obviously, I said yes.
I asked for a towel to put in my mouth to gnash with my teeth and prevent me from cursing so loudly the whole world heard me. He got the towel, and I bit down on it and draped the rest over my head so I couldn’t see a doctor STICKING A 6 INCH NEEDLE INTO MY DICK. Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of that needle before he warned me that this would feel just like a bee sting, except for the fact that it’s in a sensitive area.
The first shot was quick and similar to said bee sting. The second was not. It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt. FUCK. It hurts right now typing this story. As I tried as hard as I could not to scream in pain, the doctor told me I was good. He had lubed up a glove with K-Y Jelly and yanked that bitch out.
I was freed and relieved, shocked to be in virtually no pain. There was a small tear about the size of the tip of lightening iPhone charger. There was a little blood, but not much.
I’ve been on this planet thirty years, and I’ve worn pants that zip for most of that time. Quite frankly, I feel lucky that this is the first time this has happened and that I was at home with some help around. I can only imagine what this experience would have been like if I was at a bar or on a date or basically anywhere else.
If you ever find yourself if this predicament, I would suggest a few things: First, cut off the shorts/pants to expose the zipper. Then pour tons of baby oil on your junk. I’m not sure it will help you slip loose, but it certainly did make the area feel a little relief. Call ahead to nearby facilities and make sure the doctor has the experience and tools needed. Then get to an emergency room or clinic.
The rest of the weekend was fine. Obviously, there’s been no sexual use of the little monster since the accident. The doc said to give a week or so to heal. Got back Sunday and got the new apartment set up on the day off. Only problem is the dryer isn’t working. No biggie, can’t expect everything to be ready on day one.
This morning, I made my coffee and took a shower. I put together my clothes for a successful day at the office. I got slacks and a shirt back from the cleaners Monday. Socks and shoes ready to go. Unfortunately, one very important article of clothing was missing. Underwear. I washed everything yesterday, and was unable to dry. Guys, after my Friday night pledge to wear underwear from now until forever, I’m going commando today. Pray for me. .