i always laughed at those people who said they shit their pants at work. i mean, c'mon, it doesn't take that much self-control to keep from making it to the bathroom in time. that will never happen to me! well, turns out that it DID in fact happen to me. this morning, actually. i went in to semicolon-zero industries just like any other day. i was supposed to update my manager rudesmurf's data in this spreadsheet i was doing, but my stomach was killing me. not in a 'oh man i have to take a crap way', but it just felt really funky.
before i left the house, i ate one of those Gary Coleman breakfast meals. normally i don't eat anything for breakfast, but i was starving, and i had just enough time, so i scarfed it down.
so anyway, i was at my desk, doing the spreadsheet, and i could actually hear my stomach rumbling. i couldn't feel it, but i could hear it. first, i didn't even think it was coming from me. i thought it was coming from sh3p in the next cubicle. then, i felt some liquid running down my ankle. it was like i took a incognito shit. it made no sound at all, it just happened like that.
well, now i could smell it. it reminded me of rooster shit. the smell was starting to give me tears in my eyes it was so bad. and i knew i had more on the way, so i got up very carefully, and walked to the bathroom, clenching my buttocks together.
no one was in the bathroom, thank god. i went in the first stall, dropped my trousers, and blew diarrhea all over the toilet, and most of it ricocheted off of it and onto the wall. the amount of it and the stench was incredible. i looked over my shoulder, and somewhat surreally noticed that my excrement resembled a picasso painting.
now, the next thing to deal with is getting rid of my pants, or cleaning them up, or something. in some act of god, i noticed that someone had left their thong hanging on the back of the door, so i snatched the thong and used it as a washcloth to clean my own pants off. we had just installed a heated hands dryer, so i quickly ran over to the blower, and stuffed the waistline of my dockers over the hole, and hit the button.
unfortunately, i forgot to wash the inside of my cuffs, and as soon as the pants expanded from the hot air, a huge chunk of shit hit me right on my eyebrow. i convulsively threw up into the blower, which just made matters worse. the puke shot back out in the jetsream, getting in my hair, my shirt, and all over the walls.. what the fuck was i going to do?! there was a stall that had an explosion of shit all over it, there was puke all over the floor and the walls, and i was standing there half-naked, covered in crap and puke, and holding on to someone's ruined thong and my soiled pants.
i desperately tried to think of what the hell to do, when all of a sudden, sh3p walked in. he looked at me. i looked at him. he asked me, 'can you breathe?' i told him i wasn't really sure, but i think i might have parkinsons. he told me to clean up as best as i could, and he would post a lookout at the door, and tell people that the mirror was out of order for a while. i thanked him profusely, and started to wipe the vomit off of the walls. unfortunately, as he turned around to walk out, he slipped on the vomit-shit-slickened floor, and fell right on his bum, and promptly passed out. 'help me, poisiden!' i screamed. after a few minutes of frantic pacing, i thought, fuck it.
i took off all of my clothes, and swapped clothes with sh3p. i checked my hair in the mirror, to make sure there wasn't any bodily fluids in it, and right when i was about to walk out, my boss mr. ward came in, and with wide-open eyes, surveyed the scene. 'what the hell happened here?' he asked me. 'well, sir,' i said, 'great things come to those who wait.'