My life has always been told in stories. Stories where I have gesticulated to a point of frightening my audience like an unstoppable locomotive roaring towards a parked car on the railroad tracks. Stories whose themes are not of valor and brilliance but stories of immeasurable embarrassment and soul-bruising misfortune.
But I don’t think this comes as a surprise to any of my readers. Our fathers and their fathers before them have continued to say that we really define ourselves in moments of struggle. Obstacles have more power in shaping us then even our own personal ideologies. How we react, adapt, and respond to that misfortune is how we hold ourselves in the future moments of difficulty.
But I feel as though one part of what our fathers consistently left out is sharing. Sharing this experience so that others may save themselves from your mistakes. It is difficult sometimes especially when you damaged yourself permanently. Others tend to look down on misfortune and judge you negatively for having experienced it. You become less of a person because you didn’t look enough ahead and your life is suffering because of it. Even after this disclaimer, there will be those who judge me for the story I am about to tell.
But you have to look at the bigger picture.
This world isn't about you but rather about the furtherment of mankind. You and I will die someday and our misfortunes need to be remembered so that humankind can continue moving forward. I want you take the following story as a lesson plan on how to hold yourself, how to prepare yourself, and how to kill the proverbial devil when he comes, because if you blink, you might just end up like me.
I shit myself on Thursday. I shat myself at my job while wearing loose shorts.
I don’t really know how to make that sentence more impactful than just asking you to read it a few more times. A better writer would be more eloquent in setting up the story, but maybe its my lack of attention to English or my apathy. I don’t know, I don’t really care. Don’t worry, you have the time. Just read it a couple more times. 3 times will do the job. Picture it. The rest of the story is not going to be pretty.
Now most people have some tangible idea of what it is like pooping your pants. I mean you shit your diaper for the first year of your life. However, things have changed. You’re hopefully not wearing a diaper anymore, and maybe even more importantly, you don’t have a Mom to help you scoop it out of the soiled cloth when it does happen.
If your Mom is still scooping poop out of your crack, you need to write a blog post, because holy shit do people need to learn from your misfortunes. Also, we might judge you. Don’t waste time putting a disclaimer.
Now I don’t know about you, but I am constantly unprepared for poopy pants. Who carries around extra underwear and extra pants just incase something majorly goes wrong with their bowel movement. Fucking freaks that’s who. It’s better just to learn how to react from the situation then actually prepare for it, because if you prepare for that you are probably preparing for every catastrophe possible. #SupriseTeethMaggots #MileyCyrusGettingTheRogerKlotzHairCut #RandPaulBecomingRealvant
It is probably important for me to describe the poop that came out of me and why. I was bending over at work, and there was apparently a squirt gun of poo just eagerly waiting to spray someone. #SkunkLife
I could describe my diet leading up to the event but if I did, you would question my intellect. I eat like a child. Dr. Pepper and candy are major staples of my diet but I swear to you. It has almost never resulted in explosive diarrhea. In fact, it has resulted in the lean, sexy body that you all know and love.
This liquid mud butt immediately ran down the back of my leg and pooled a little bit in my Nike shoes. Now the very first thing I did was run to the bathroom. I haven’t consulted experts on this, but I am pretty sure that should be your first thing no matter what.
****Not near a toilet? You are going to want to find a closet, a spare bedroom, or even an unseen corner of a house can work if you use it right. The poop is going to be noticeable and you are going to need to do some damage control.
The second thing you need to do is throw away your clothes. I know the economy isn’t bouncing back like it used to but you are in the first world, things could be worse. Throw away your clothes and don’t look back.
Now if you are like me, this wasn't an option. I was able to throw away the socks and underwear, but I am going to need pants if I am going to leave this bathroom. I know that sounds crazy to some of my international readers, but you can blame Reagan for that law. #DontLookThatUp #AmericaAintFree
Now I did this at work, so you can’t just leave. Here is my first mistake that I made, I told the truth.
You have pooped your pants, this is no time for heroes. Grandmother heart attack, making yourself puke, or just running out are the better options than telling your boss that you have to leave because you pooped yourself. You could be a foot smarter than the rest of your co-workers and it won’t matter after you have pooped yourself. You are now the office baby.
I told my boss as honestly as I could. “I have to go, I pooped my pants.”
She looked at me like I was joking but after one sniff of the crime scene that was around me and she realized like the ones after her that she has probable cause that I did just level 2 offense (a joke for the mothers).
“Why did you poop your pants”
What? She asked why? She thinks I had fucking intent in this situation. The foot smarter comment was supposed to be a joke, not a fucking observation.
I told her “everybody poops.”
Apparently that was a good enough line to get me out of the situation and she told me that she will see me tomorrow and probably immediately told some fellow co-workers.
I didn’t care. I was about to walk into the Gates of Hades.
Now I don’t have a car, and it was raining on this day, so I rode the bus. This is a much larger ordeal than you think. This meant that I was going to have to go on a crowded bus and allow every nostril in the join to smell my crime.
I am normally not a self-conscious person, but I don’t care if you are Gandhi. You don’t want to be caught with a brown ferret hanging out in your trousers.
Get a taxi. Don’t do what I did. I know what you are thinking a taxi! To get home! From school!? It’s worth if you don’t have transportation. There are times for frugality, this is not one of them.
I handed the bus driver my bus pass and thought no one will know it was me. I scooped what I could out of my pants and cleaned my leg, how bad could I really smell?
Everyone knew what happened and everyone knew who did it. To think otherwise is only hurting yourself.
People poop every day. They know what it smells like. They know where it comes from and when they see a brown stain, smell poop, and then see an awkward face, then you are going to have a very judgmental bus ride.
I was able to get off the bus before I got hung from mob rule, but you might not be as lucky. Going home was a false sense of relief. Yes I cleaned myself, but not emotionally. I had meetings, classes, and even though the ordeal was over. I could feel their stares penetrating my butt hole and smelling the dastardly deed.
I am really not sure what to tell you to walk away from this story with. I don’t think you are going to be any more prepared than I was when it happens or even if it happens. I wish the fate upon not even my worst enemies.
I think if you were to walk away from this story it would be that life is difficult. All of us struggling. Maybe not every day, but there is consistent emotional trauma and we pretend its not happening. Putting on this facade that your life is a perfect state helps no one and when you fall as Icarus did, just remember that Everybody Poops.
Live Deliberately
John Kelly
