Perhaps I’ve been emboldened by my recent post about bathroom troubles at Thanksgiving. Maybe I’m looking to again flirt with the success of my post about my failed first date. Maybe I’m just desperate for funny stories and don’t really have the necessary shame-reflex to not share these kinds of embarrassing stories (definitely this one). Whatever the reason, I’m going to recount a tale that combines the disappointment of both of the aforementioned posts. You’re welcome.
It’s been a few years since this happened, but let me set the scene for you. I was out with a girl that I had been dating for a while (the fact that I was dating someone should tell you how ancient this story is). She was in college at the time, so I picked her up at her dorm and went to the next town over (about 20 minutes away) to our favorite restaurant. We had some soup, salad and pizza there; nothing crazy. After that, we went out for ice cream; again nothing crazy. I had never previously had an intestinal discomfort due to any of these foods. Today, however, that would all change.
Initially, the plan was to eat dinner and maybe catch a movie or do some shopping together afterwards. This was not to be so, as our plans crumbled when my stomach rumbled. I could tell something was brewing and it would not be pleasant. I told my girlfriend that I wasn’t feeling well and that we should head home; seeing my discomfort, she obliged and we began to make the drive back to her dorm.
The drive didn’t go well. My stomach gurgled non-stop, extremely loudly. Now, even though we had been dating for a while, I had yet to break the barrier of pooping when I was with her. In fact, I had only farted near her once and that was because she was tickling me and I couldn’t hold it back (it was bad for everyone). I was, up to that point, still trying to hide from her that I was just an average, disgusting human being (I mean, I do pride myself on smelling good…). Needless to say, with an intestinal explosion imminent we were breaking new ground in our relationship. I sat rigid in the driver’s seat of my car, with a strained look on my face and beads of sweat dribbling down my forehead. My mind was in full-on panic mode as I struggled to hold back the building pressure in my gut.
To her credit, she was very concerned and supportive during my struggle. She asked if I was okay (I wasn’t) and tried to reassure me that she was not completely disgusted by the sounds that were leaking from my body (she was). I told her that there was absolutely no way I was going to make it to her dorm and then all the way back to my house. She responded incredulously that she had expected me to just use her bathroom, that it wasn’t a big deal. This is where she was completely wrong. It was a huge deal. There was no way that my first time using her bathroom would be to unleash this unholy beast that was forming inside me. I could tell that my colon had literally turned into the gates of hell and that whatever escaped would not only destroy her bathroom, but likely take both of our souls with it. No, this had to be released on neutral ground, so I told her that I would just use one of the downstairs public restrooms at her dorm building.
If everything went smoothly from this point on, I wouldn’t have much of a story. But, if you’re familiar with how my life works, you know that things only went downhill from here. I pulled into the parking lot at her dorm building and was met with the sight of a dark building, an alarm buzzing, flashing lights and the entire population of the building pouring out of the doorways into the street. My heart sank into the bubbling mass in my gut (adding to my discomfort). But, desperate times call for desperate measures. I pointed out that I saw no smoke and my girlfriend texted one of her friends who confirmed that it was a fire drill. That was all I needed, as I bolted from the car and pushed my way through the crowd spilling forth from the building. I slipped through crowd of bodies, through the doors and made my way through the darkened hallways by the soft glow of the emergency lights. I felt like I was Indiana Jones exploring the Temple of Doom, only under much shittier circumstances (haha, puns).
I found the bathroom, locked myself inside and began my business in the dark (the power was still off from the fire drill). I don’t want to get too graphic with this because that will not help me in my quest to keep growing my fan-base, but after a couple of minutes the lights came back on and I could hear all the dorm’s inhabitants navigating the hallways on the way back to their rooms. And because I could hear them clearly, I absolutely know that they could hear me. I’m sure to most of them it sounded like an exorcism was happening in the bathroom. And I heard at least one person ask if they should evacuate the building again. I finished my business, washed up, then waited for the sounds of passersby to die down so I could slink out of the bathroom with whatever shreds of dignity I still had left. Waiting for me outside the bathroom door was my girlfriend with the most horrified look I’d ever seen on her face.
Now, I’m not saying that this experience started us down the path towards her breaking up with me, but I can’t imagine she was comfortable dating someone who could commit that sort of atrocity.