Years ago, back in the old Chicago Stadium, I occupied the right-most individual urinal. A short Mexican fellow of average weight and obviously drunk, bellied-up to the urinal on my left. After a few seconds he found his personal asset, then proceeded to urinate on my left foot, at "full-throttle" for a couple seconds before he could get a handle on the situation and position his urinary organ to it's proper position.
He looked at me, with a "I'm so drunk, I don't know my name" type of look, and said "sorry".
I didn't know whether to beat the living cr@p out of him or simply laugh. I laughed. And laughed and laughed. Then went home and put my gym shoes in the washer. On the hottest setting. I figure there was no chance of anything being in that urine other than water due to all the beers he had to drink.