I went on tea moments before they came out. As I was walking towards the mens locker room, the door opened before me and a yellow shirted security guard (from the humourously and unoriginally named "Homeland Security") pushed the door open and outstepped John Morrison, sans beanie and sunglasses. Had I gone in a few minutes earlier instead of stopping to examine the queue of hundreds of fans waiting, I probably would have been standing at the urinal with him. How awkward. Lucky I had no idea who he was.


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