Hey Pandas, What’s The ‘Incident’ You’ll Never Live Down? (Closed)

Was living abroad for work. Went out for a quick pint at 5pm. At 3am I got back to my apartment. My flatmate then got back at 4am, but I had the only set of keys. I went downstairs (from the 10th floor) to let him in (just in my boxers and a t-shirt. Saucy). As we were in the lift going back up, he asked me where the front door keys were. It was at that point I realised I had fugged up. Front door was self locking, so we were stuck outside. Had to just try and wait it out until the lease agency opened at 9am wso we could get a spare set of keys. At around 5am, my stomach remembered that it had consumed all the beer, and immediately after this lightbulb moment it also recalled that my food-based decision making had taken a nosedive as a result of said beer and I had tucked into what I will loosely call 'food'. These two things decided that now was the time when the d***o of consequence was to make an appearance. No public toilets, no-one near enough locally to walk to. Only one option - the apartment building rubbish bin shed. I was already at defcon 4 at this point, so pride was no longer a consideration. No chance would I be able to balance on the side of one of the big bins and make a safe delivery, so I found a box that had previously contained bottles of beer (the irony was not lost on me). The relief was instant, although I had to use some of the cardboard to clean up, 2/5 stars - it was not soft and gentle. The whole time my flatmate was (rightly) shouting a***e at me. A real low point. Which was then made worse when the local bin / refuse collection lorry came around the corner just as I left the scene of the crime. I saw one of the chaps go in to grab the bins. I don't know a lot of Spanish, but I got the impression that his view was that I needed to see a doctor, and maybe stop eating cat food, or words to that effect. Whilst not the most perfectly executed mission, I feel like I might have got away without blame had my flatmate not shouted over to the man that I had left the hot chocolate milkshake present (sorry) for him.

The flatmate in question still gives me a***e to this day, but I managed to off-set this somewhat by telling the story to people before he did, but with a 'slight' change of protagonist. Sorry Andy, I'm the reason everyone has been calling you Poobox for the last 15 years.