Nature calls! At any time of the day it can call. Typically, as humans over the age of 2 or 3 (sometimes 4, hey don’t judge me!) we try to plan these happenings and hope to have some say on the when and where. That doesn’t always happen though now does it? Sometimes it feels like our bowels have totally fallen asleep at the wheel of the poop bus. They have put all their faith in the poop doing the right thing and taking its time. But oh no, within the recesses of its stinky little mind, the poop has decided to go rogue and make a very dramatic appearance in the form of, you guessed it, poopy pants.
You might be lying to yourself right now. You may have convinced yourself that this has never happened to you. Or perhaps you indeed have had the misfortune of carrying your own poop in your underwear. Odds are you kept that little bit of knowledge to yourself. Not me, I have carelessly decided that my shitcapades need to be made public, for all the world to see, or perhaps a few dozen people who mistakenly stumble onto my blog.
I won’t bore you with tales of farts gone wrong. Everyone gets those from time to time. Those are merely a small grease spot in your underwear and perhaps an unscheduled wipe , and then boom you’re back in business. No, I’m talking about the full monty, the big kahuna, the main event.
Every Hero Has His Origin Story
The hero of this story, yours truly, was met with such a fate. Before we get into it, I have to explain a few things about how this all came about. Within the walls of my high school, in the boys bathrooms, we had stalls like any other bathroom. Metal walls, adorned with colorful quotes and saucy sayings, speckled with bits of rust and other unknown substances. Nothing unusual, exactly what you would expect in a public high school boys room… …except. Except these particular stalls did not have doors. Why would they not have doors you ask? Beats me, lazy janitors, low funding, irresponsible students. That’s not relevant, but what is relevant is the fact that the lack of doors made the appeal of taking and/or leaving a shit during school hours extremely unappealing. It’s bad enough dropping a deuce with a listening audience. Yeah, Billy, we know it’s you, we can see your shoes under the doors. But having a listening and viewing audience is on a whole other level of embarrassment. Jesus Billy, now we can see your junk and your pooping face, on top of your grunts and plops. Poor Billy!
I didn’t want to be like Billy. So I made a conscious decision to hold it in until I got home after school. I could then take care of business in the privacy and cleanliness of my own home. No jeers, sneers, chuckles or funny looks. This was a tried and true method. Worked flawlessly, I had my body trained to hold off until the same time every day, just around 4:00 pm.
Ah ‘the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men’ as they say. All goods things come to an end. Track season came along and said to hell with your silly schedules. Practice would start right after school. so longer was I able to adhere to my carefully planned out schedule for number 2. I would have to further push my body to its breaking point to try to postpone the inevitable. It was a truly dangerous game I was playing. And play it I did, though sadly with mixed results as you shall soon learn.
Poop Happens
During my sojourn as a track star I specialized in long distance, and being a student of a rural school, our practice would consist of our coach loading us up in a van, driving out to the middle of nowhere, dropping us off, and then assuming we would all just make it back with no issues. It was typically between 2 and 6 miles we had to trek across country roads. It is on one such occasion dear readers, halfway between nowhere and school, that our story reaches its climax. More than 24 hours of procrastinating my bodily functions, squeezing my cheeks until the cramps were intolerable, sweating not only from the run but the sheer terror of what was about to happen, I could hold no longer. My digestive system had reached critical mass, and I just let loose in my pants. Yes, I shit myself, and although it was deeply embarrassing, and made for a tricky rest of practice, man did it feel good at the time. Having said that, I would definitely not recommend. Soon after that, I believe I gave up on Track. After all, not shitting your pants is way more important than being active.