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So I had to do my first civilian drug test today, and I walked in thinking it’d be the same deal as the Navy. You know the drill: observer follows you in, pants and underwear to the ankles, shirt lifted, full humiliation mode. Standard issue trauma. The tech hands me the cup and says, “Alright, follow me.” Cool. I follow him into the restroom. He stops outside the stall. I’m thinking, Oh, he’s the observer. Got it. So I start doing what I’ve done a hundred times in uniform — pants going down, underwear going down, shirt starting to come up. This dude practically jumps. He goes, “Whoa, no, no, no — what are you doing?” I’m standing there like an idiot, halfway undressed, confused as hell. “I thought you had to… observe?” He looks horrified. Like I just tried to reenact a crime scene. “No, man. I just need to be outside the stall. I don’t need to see anything. Ever.” I swear he said “ever” like he was begging the universe. So I awkwardly pull everything back up, shu...