The Start of Something New

Rather than making my first post a “this is why I’m blogging” entry, I felt it better to instead share a personal story that has entertained many throughout the past several years. This is not to say that the day won’t come where I share my reasons for beginning this blog (as there are many). After all, when The Golden Girls debuted in 1985, they didn’t give us a “how they met” episode till the inaugural season finale, so honestly, why should my blog be any different?

It was a warm spring day in late May 2007 and a 20 year old me was with my dad at Cassens car dealership in Edwardsville, Illinois. We were there picking up my Dodge Neon from some servicing work. After keys were in hand, I was instructed by my father to take the car to the MotoMart across from my grandpas retirement community and fill it up with gas and check the oil, then go get my grandpas car and do the same with his. Easy enough, right? Well, as I was driving down Center Grove Road in route to Meridian Village (the retirement community my grandpa lived in) I started to feel some rumbling in my stomach area. I pressed on, choosing to ignore this temporary unpleasantness.

I pulled up to the pump at MotoMart there on IL 157, got out and began filling the tank. I popped the hood and went to check the oil levels. I remember as I was wiping off the dip stick I felt my stomach surge once again, this time though, it seemed a bit more prominent, however, I didn’t want to use the MotoMart restrooms, so again I ignored it. Soon enough, the pump stopped and I dropped the hood on the car, put the gas handle up and tore the receipt away from the dispenser. One car down, one to go.

I drove across the way and got my grandpas car in no time. As I was driving back towards MotoMart, which took all of about three minutes given the proximity of Meridian Village to it, I again felt my stomach churning in a fashion that I have felt many times since. This was not ideal, yet still, I ignored the warnings.

I arrived once more to MotoMart and parked at the same exact pump as I had the first time. Got out and selected the appropriate grade, put the pump inside the tank, popped the hood and repeated everything I had just done minutes earlier. This time, however, as I wiped the dipstick my stomach started screaming at me. I had never felt such an urgent pain up until this point. It was like Optimus Prime was transforming from semi-truck to Transformer inside my very stomach. I thought I was going to explode. I quickly inserted the dipstick back down the chute, never truly checking the oil levels, slammed the car hood down and zipped over to the pump hoping that somehow hovering over it would hasten its pace.

I stood there tapping my foot frantically as I watched the numbers on the pump shoot up at what seemed like a glacial pace all the while my stomach was howling from the inside. In the very moment I felt like I could not take anymore the pumped stopped. It was a dream. I grabbed the handle and quickly plunged it back into the pump stand and waited quite impatiently as the receipt took its sweet time printing. Before it could even tear I ripped that paper abruptly from its station and made a rushed movement towards the gas station doors.

As I blazed across the parking lot one giant leap in front of the other, I was moving as fast as one could without physically running; I felt my time running out. Luckily, MotoMart had sliding glass doors that opened just as I approached, but unluckily for me, it was too late.

As I entered the gas station I stood there for a moment frozen in time. I had pooped my shorts. I was absolutely mortified. I will never forget, I was wearing khaki shorts that day and a graphic tee. My boxers I feared would not be able to withstand the magnitude of poo they were now dealing with. Thankfully, the restroom sign caught my eye and I did my best penguin impression across the convenient mart praying there was no one else inside. As I reached the door I didn’t even give the appropriate knock, I just yanked the door open and hallelujah, my prayers were answered, there was no one else inside and even better, it was a single person restroom, meaning I could lock the door and be without fear of having to share this space with another. It was a silver lining to my turd-filled storm cloud.

As I rushed over to the toilet, I could feel the warming sensation of my poop oozing down the backside of my legs. It was unlike anything else I had ever felt before and something I have only ever experienced three times since. I lowered my defecated shorts and boxers down to my ankles and finished relieving myself. Somehow, there was still quite a bit in me. It was unreal. I guess I had bottled it up for so long that anything solid had been broken down to what would best be described as small, floating islands amongst a pool of deep-brown anal water. It was absolutely awful.

After carefully wiping myself I finally came to terms with what had just happened. I took a look around the small, square restroom and realized it looked like something out of a horror film. There was a trail of slimed poo from the door to the toilet and somehow, I even managed to get some in the corner of the room where I never even took step. It was an absolute disaster. I knew the error of my ways and that it would be highly inappropriate to leave this mess behind for the poor gas station attendant, so I decided it was my duty to clean up after myself.

I kicked my shorts off into the small section of the room that had not been desecrated by my explosive diarrhea and then very, very slowly took my boxers off from around my ankles. I was scared to death I was going to slime my feet in the process, but fortunately, I did not. Not that I guess it would have mattered much in retrospect as the entire backside of my thighs looked like I had used some sort of fast-drying self tanner about eight shades too dark.

The regrettable part about this particular pair of boxers was that they were one of my favorites, so rather than tossing them in the trash, I decided to wash and rinse them out in the sink. Surely once I got home we had enough Tide to clean them as good as new. Once I cleaned them as well as I could with hand soap and water, I wrapped them in a paper towel and let them rest on the corner of the sink for the time being.

I then proceeded to dampen and soap up a great number of paper towels. All I can say is thank goodness this was not one of those restrooms that had hand dryers only! I would have been in a real conundrum! I then took the soapy towels and wiped down my backside. It was a real mess back there and I needed to get myself as clean as possible before putting those shorts back on and going back to sit in my grandpa’s poor car. Once I cleaned myself up, I turned my efforts to wiping down the entirety of the restroom. I started with the epicenter of my struggles: the toilet.

I had seriously laid waste to the edifice. It’s once gleaming white complexion had been deeply darkened by the stains of my brown excretions. I wiped it down repeatedly till there was no trace of me anywhere on that toilet and then I did the same thing with the remainder of the restroom including that odd corner that I had somehow flung my stool into. I stood there for a moment in the center of the room and looked all around me, even lifting of my feet where I stood to ensure I stood on top of nothing, but clean tile. It looked even better than when I entered. Honestly, I was quite proud of my cleanup. I then grabbed the paper towel wrapped boxers and put them in my right front pocket and unlocked the restroom door, I was ready to roll out. As I opened the door I was met with not one, but rather, four irritated looking faces all starring angrily back at me.

How long had I been in there?

I felt equal parts awful and awkward and made an immediate b-line for grandpa’s car so I could get up out of there. Once I parked his car under his carport I had to go inside his apartment building and return to him his key. Fortunately, we were able to use the side door, as there was no way I was going to risk entering through the main entrance. Could you imagine what the concierge would have thought of free-balling me?

I reached my grandpa’s apartment there on the second floor and knocked on his door twice before opening it and entering. I remember him pausing his television at the site of me and the two of us exchanging conversation from two different rooms. I was scared to get too close for fear he would smell me. As our conversation wound down, I placed his car key on his kitchen table and turned to leave just as I was doing so grandpa yelled across the apartment at me, “Hey! You wanna go to lunch?”

“Not today!” I exclaimed back and abruptly left his apartment to go home and take the shower I so desperately needed.

Well, I do hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved telling it. Feel free to leave a comment below and as always, remember, you are simply the best!

More pants pooping posts:

Oops!… I Did It Again

3

It’s Gonna Be Me

Come Clean

The Poopy Diaper King

7th Heaven