For instance, just last month he got a call that a fan had seen some pervert jerking off in the big bathroom near Gate H. He did what he was supposed to do—call the cops immediately—but then ran down to the bathroom to peek through the cracks between the stalls to see if the guy looked dangerous.

When Phil got to the bathroom and looked through the crack, he saw that it wasn’t some old Peeping Tom or pervert masturbating in the stall—it was actually a kid, a teenage boy feverishly playing with himself in front of the toilet.

Phil rolled his eyes and walked to the bathroom door, where three police offers were ready to pounce.

“Officers,” Phil said, half-smiling. “I’m sorry I called you out for this. It’s a kid. It’s not a pedophile or criminal or anything.”

“Sir,” one man in uniform responded, “we got an indecent exposure call and we’re going to have to check it out.”

“Guys, guys, look, I know you’re just doing your job, but why don’t you let me talk to him. If anything seems weird, I’ll bring him out to talk to you. But for Christ’s sake, if the police yell at him for snapping his carrot, his dick probably won’t work for the rest of his life.”

The policemen softened. One actually smiled.

“Thank you,” Phil said, walking back to the stall.

He knocked quietly on the door. “Hey kid, open up.”

Silence.

A nervous, cracking voice finally said, “Is there a problem?”

“Kid, open up,” Phil said, louder.

About a minute later, the red-faced kid, who looked even younger now that he was out of the stall and standing up straight, glared defiantly at Phil, who towered over him by more than a foot and a half.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t do anything wrong.” The boy’s voice was trembling. Phil worried that the kid was going to cry right there in front of him.

“Kid,” Phil said softly, now noticing that other men in the bathroom were staring. “Kid, come with me.”

They walked to the corner of the bathroom. Phil leaned in so he could make better eye contact.

The kid was now crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his face became a beet.

“Listen. Calm down. It’s okay. Look, you can’t jerk off in a public bathroom. We all do it, but if someone can see you, like, in a place like this, where there are big spaces between the doors, someone’s going to think you’re a creep and call the police, like they did today.”

“Someone called the police?” The boy was shaking, wide eyed.

“Someone thought they saw an old man jerking off in the bathroom. They thought you were a pervert. Look, there’s nothing wrong with jerking off, but you have to do it at home.”

“I do,” the kid whined, wiping his eyes. Phil hovered over the boy so that the men at the urinals couldn’t see his tears. Now Phil looked like the creep, he thought to himself, mildly amused.