I’m 33 years old, and I have never had a mosquito bite. I know that may sound hard to believe, but it’s true. Or, maybe if I’ve had a mosquito bite in my life, I’ve not known about it. I’ve never seen one on my body, nor have I ever regularly scratched at something on my skin. I also don’t use moisturizer. Not sure if that’s related.
While I think it’s pretty common to get a mosquito bite or two, most people have never pooped their pants. As an adult. But I have.
Just once, mind you. But, once is plenty.
How did I poop my pants? Why did I poop my pants? And most importantly, where did I poop my pants?
I’m not a good drinker. And by that, I mean I’m an absolutely fantastic drinker. I’ll drink more than you can and much faster. My body loves alcohol. But it also tends to need alcohol, like on a Thursday at noon. So, I’m better off without it.
When I was in financial services, I had a studio apartment in the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago. I spent most of my days working, and my nights alone. Oh, and I made like no money. It was rough.
One weekend I got invited to a bachelor party pub crawl in my neighborhood. Now, I didn’t know the bachelor at all, but I knew some of his friends. I was just excited to have something to do. My dance card was not full.
That day I went out to do some shopping, and on my way home I saw a sign at 7-11 that said, “Closeout Special Jack Daniel’s.”
Historically, I didn’t buy Jack Daniel’s. It’s too expensive. There’s other whiskey that’s pretty good but a few bucks cheaper. But a deal’s a deal. I walked in, and asked the clerk. He pointed to a bunch of dusty boxes on the floor.
Oh. This were not Jack Daniel’s – not really. These were Jack Daniel’s BlackJack Cola Country Cocktails. Now, I know what this really means – it’s malt liquor. There’s no trace of whiskey in these bottles. It’s the same crap that’s used to make hard ciders and lemonade, wine coolers, and Mad Dog 20/20. But, a six-pack was going for $1.99, manager’s special.
So what if the boxes had a visible layer of dust and were not refrigerated? Who am I, Lady Di? (note: this was back when she was alive, so the reference is not in bad taste) And I thought, “Well, I like the taste of cola, and I like the taste of Jack Daniels!” This math added up. And off I went to my apartment with twelve bottles.
I started drinking in the early afternoon. My goal was to have 7-8 of these down before the bachelor party so I would already have a nice start to the evening and could spend less money at the bars.
The problem was I couldn’t get drunk. These things must have a low alcohol content. Plus, they tasted like death. Not like coke, not like whiskey. Like chalk, or how I think chalk would taste. Pretty sure I finished all twelve.
As I got ready to go out for the evening, I put on my one expensive pair of pants and a nice shirt. I took a cab over to the first bar, and went in. I made my way to the bar and ordered a beer. Within two minutes, it hit me. I needed to go to the bathroom.
I scoped out the bar’s bathroom and realized it would not do. Not only do I generally not “make” in public bathrooms (it’s one of my core values), but I especially was not going to make in this bathroom. There was a trough for peeing, and a toilet – no door separating. In fact, no door at all.
“No problem,” I thought. I had time. My internal alarm informed me that I had a good hour or two before DEFCON 1. I made some mental notes as I surveyed the neighborhood. The Subway across the street looked like a good option. After the next beer, I’ll make a move. I went back to my drink and starting mingling.
Three Seconds Later
My stomach punched me right in the stomach. It was unfamiliar, but understood. I was going to release the Kraken. Like now. Like seriously, right now.
Instead of heading for the bathroom, I bolted out of the bar, saying goodbye to no one. The problem was, the stupid bar across the street had about 100 people loitering outside, taking all the cabs. I needed a cab to get home. I literally pushed two girls out of the way and jumped in a cab.
I gave the cab driver my address and told him I was in trouble. I couldn’t exactly tell him why because I was afraid he would kick me out. And that would be worse. So I just said I didn’t feel good.
Ten seconds later I pooped. All over myself. Right in the cab. And I was sitting down, so I also got the added bonus of that. Not three moments later all the windows came down in the cab. It immediately smelled like death. He knew. I was in trouble.
He started yelling at me, and I begged him not to kick me out. I think I cried. I promised a big tip if he got me home. Thankfully, he did. I threw a $20 at him on a $4 fare, and ran out of his cab.
Good thing I was wearing dark pants.
Now, I had to make a split second but critical decision. If I sprinted through the main lobby of my apartment building, I ran the risk of someone seeing me. Same goes for the elevator. Those options are out. Thankfully, there was a side door that opened from the alley into the stairwell.
I tore off down the alley and into my building, a man possessed. I made a silent prayer for an empty stairwell during the four flights I was about to climb. Thankfully, the coast was clear. So was my hallway. There is a God. I got to my door, undid the lock and went in. I was safe.
I made it straight into the bathroom, and jumped into the tub, fully clothed. I know this was going to be rough. I had to remove my pants, and clean up. When I had taken off my pants, well, I’ll save you the horror of what I saw. But I threw up. All over myself.
And so I stood in the shower, covered in mess, and in my best clothes and stone-cold sober. And I had to laugh. It was funny. And the weird thing was, I felt okay. The poison had left. I cleaned up, and went to the couch to watch television. It was 8:30pm.
So, what exactly happened? I’m pretty sure those Jack Daniel’s bottles were $1.99 for a reason, and that reason had to do with me pooping my pants. I quit drinking soon after that. Figured it was a sign.
The only other time this sort of thing happened I was on my way to meet my wife’s parents for the first time at their cabin in Michigan. I found a big bag of Life Savers in the car, and promptly devoured every one within twenty minutes. My wife exclaimed, “Those are sugar-free, you know…” No, I didn’t know.
Quick-cut to ten minutes later when I bolted from her Jeep Wrangler into the woods crying. It was our sixth date.
There – a bonus poop story. Plus, I’d like to point out that you’re a grown adult and you just read 1300 words about doody. That’s pretty immature, even for you. Go back to work.