Don’t trust a Fart
Now this isn’t a topic that most people openly admit to or even openly chat about, but nevertheless it always seems to offer up a few good laughs so following that vein I continue:
I was maybe only 5 or 6 the last time I shat myself as a young’n (pushed too hard while peeing). I did it again as a full grown adult on the side of Clear Creek in Colorado just as I was about to put on the river to kayak (same pushing too hard problem), and then again as I sat in my room writing my master’s thesis thinking I was passing an innocent fart. These events went mostly unnoticed by the general public, mere quiet blips on the pooing-yourself radar screen and rightly so, they were not serious offenses and generally were not tied to any great deal of humor – shitting yourself can only become true public knowledge if it also carries a good bit of humor…so here it goes, my one publically recognizable story about shitting myself and really making sure I did it properly!
I was a junior at Virginia Tech and lived in one of those standard cookie cutter, mass-produced apartment complexes: Top floor with 3 other apartments on the level. We got lucky and had a group of 4 girls next to us, one of which I was highly interested in and had a good undergrad hornball crush on. She was a surf girl from the beaches of Virginia: Sun freckled cheeks, a beautiful smile and good fun all around.
It was winter break and I was back home in NH for the holiday. As it turned out, said girl was driving up with 4 other friends to Killington for a week of riding the Vermont powder (or ice). Of course being that it was practically my backyard I insisted I had to come join for at least a day or two – winter break in a ski condo with the girl I had a crush on – dreams are made of such things. So off I went in my little Honda accord tearing up the state highways between Concord and Killington with wild undergrad fantasies of the days to come spilling through my mind.
Something was funny though. Somewhere along the 4 hour journey north I began to feel a bit uneasy: a little warm, kinda nauseous, with that brewing sensation low down in my gut like there was trouble to come. What the fuck I thought – no way am I getting sick on the drive up to this perfect situation. I was determined to ignore it! It got worse though and when I stood up from my car outside the condo I knew it was bad, ga-glug-glug. Oh boy!!! That brewing sensation just turned into a straight on percolation and something sure seemed like it was going to bubble up…fuck, I didn’t know what to do. What was there to do? I put on the game face, convinced myself it was just some gas from holiday meals and knocked on the door. Inside I was introduced to the crew, none of which I knew except the girl but the lot seemed friendly enough and everyone was stoked for a good holiday trip. I pinched my cheeks tight and tried to roll with the scene.
I managed a quick remark about not feeling great but tried to play it off like it was just the upset stomach I had claimed. The crew was just getting off the hill and about to head into town to grab groceries for dinner – I was in for the ride since after being there for only 5 minutes I couldn’t justifiably claim I wanted to stay behind and destroy their bathroom.
The nausea associated with stomach bugs is as bad as it gets as far as im concerned…the spins, the cramps, the chills, the cold sweats… its nothing you wish upon anyone.
With 6 of us in the group it was necessary to take my car as well, yet things had gotten considerably worse and I was in no state to drive. Embarrassingly, I handed the keys over to said girl and curled up in the passenger seat of my own car. On a scale of 1 to 10 I had showed up at the condo on a 3 and now only 30 minutes later I was edging on a 7 or 8. The drive down into town didn’t help and despite wanting to go into the grocery store all I could do was remain in the fetal position in the car while the 5 others went in for supplies.
You know when shit hits a fan? You know how it often hits quick, hard, and definable – like falling through ice, one second all is good, the next you’re underwater in an ice bath, or like stepping in front of a train, or being at ground zero in a nuclear explosion – that’s where this was about to turn.
Oh god, oh god….huuuuuuuurrrrrrrrggggghhhhh – I fumbled for the seatbelt with one hand and the door handle with the other just in time to lean out past the car and empty my guts into the parking lot. A good solid spew, at least 2 feet across with solid identifiable chunks of my Subway sandwich now lay on the pavement beside my car – wow, I sure hope she doesn’t see that!! Right, how was she not going to see that!?!?!! But man, I did feel a bit better.
I returned to my fetal position and felt a bit of gas welling up inside of me – ah, the thought of relieving some pressure inside the ol’ gut – that sounds good! I eased the weight off of one cheek and let her rip – blurp!
Oh fuck – blurp? Farts don’t go blurp, they go, well you know what a fart sounds like, its not a blurp. A blurp means only one thing: That “gas” was now sitting as a giant pile of liquid shit in my pants!
Oh fuck, ohhhhhhh fuck, fuck, fuck….I sat for only a micro second in complete astonishment as the scene flashed in front of me: Winter Holiday, Ski Condo, Beautiful Girl, Partying, Hot tubs, skiing…oh and shitting yourself inside your car while she’s in a grocery store shopping for you. I sat idle but my brain was running on overdrive…Ok, Act quickly, make decisions, stay calm. What are my options? Ideally I just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen, get back to the condo and change my pants – ideally a dog bites off her nose on the way back to the car so she cant smell anything, ideally the liquid shit doesn’t leak through my boxers, my jeans, and into the car seat. Fuck, I’m so fucked! Ok, so I cant just sit here I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE CAR! Ok… here I go… Fuck! there’s all my vomit!
The long step over my puddle of puke sent the liquid shit dribbling down my leg. Ok, calm, cool, collected – here we go. I had 80 feet to the front door to find a new walking style and come up with a plan: Find a bathroom! They’re either in the front or the back, pray they’re in the front. I walked as casual a college student could with a cup of shit soup smeared between their legs right through the automatic doors and into the store.
Fuck, no signs for the bathroom anywhere…Ok is anyone watching? Where’s the girl? Where’s her friends? Did they notice you come in? Stay cool, walk normally. I waddled up to a checkout clerk and asked for the bathroom – all the way in the back on the right – Salvation!!! But it was 60 feet away through the gauntlet. I gathered some odd looks as I paced back and forth at the front of the store looking for an open isle. It seemed every isle I looked down was occupied by someone from the group and I wasn’t about to go slurping past them. “Things” has slid down to my knees by now and times were getting desperate – I found an empty isle and made a mad stiff-legged penguin dash for the back. The bathroom way empty and I darted in, relief was mine to savor.
The clean up was ugly to say the least. I had to sacrifice my boxers and half a roll of hand towels. After 10 minutes I stepped out knowing that whoever had to take the bathroom trash out that day was going to be a very unhappy camper. I lucked out big time though and the bathroom was also equipped with a hot air hand drier – Also very convenient for drying pants as it turns out.
I was just about to say that all went as planned from there on out but I cant really claim that. I did manage to get out of the grocery store alive and made no mention of my pile of vomit next to the car – and neither did she. We got back to the condo and I found new underwear but the general misery continued. Fortunately the purging was over. What a site though, this random dude from New Hampshire laying in cold sweats on the floor of a condo while the girl he has a crush on and her 4 random friends from Virginia booze it up around him.
I woke up the next morning feeling completely fine – I was amazed at the whole ordeal – did it actually happen? The minus 1 count on the boxers was enough proof to me that it had indeed been a reality. I went skiing that day but decided to save face and head home after that, no need to stick around if round two decided to rear its head.
I found out later that I had managed to contaminate some of the girls friends who in turn proceeded to also get violently ill and spew their guts out. I bet they loved me for that one!
So in the end I shat my pants, didn’t get to party with the girl, got her friends sick and then left the whole scene – a true and complete success by some standards!
