True story:
So I was set to drive my wife’s car today (’01 Jetta VR6) instead of my beloved ’04 TL. She needed an emissions test and I promised to do it for her.
I had a bunch of errands to run, so I started pretty early – around 8 AM. I know rush hour sucks in the DC area, but I decided to brave it so that I could finish my errands early in the day.
So, I took a big swig of coffee and headed out. As I left the house, I noticed a slight gurgling feeling in my stomach. I briefly considered going to the bathroom before I left, but I figured I was pretty safe as my usual BM hits around noon.
I got in the Jetta, noted once again how bland it felt compared to my TL, and headed off. I was driving around the beltway and ran into a ton of traffic at the I-270 spur. As soon as I realized that I’d be sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for a while, my stomach started to rumble again. This time it was more worrisome because I felt a tinge in the old poop chute. I began to curse the coffee I guzzled.
I tried a few different body positions, but my intestine continued to percolate.
I did what I usually try to do in this type of situation: think of something else. So I turned up the radio and listened to Howard Stern. I started having some pretty bad cramps. I figured that, instead of trying to think about something else, maybe I should try to think of nothing at all. So I went to Plan B: turn off the radio and try to think of a blank, white sheet of paper.
Intestinal festering did not cease. At this point, I started getting nervous. The road was packed with cars, we weren’t moving very fast, there was no exit for quite a while anyway, and (worse yet) no area on the shoulder to “hide” whilest doing the deed. This was the stuff nightmares are made of.
Now I was starting to panic. The cramps were worse, and every 30 seconds or so I’d really have to tense up to keep the lump in my intestine from traveling south. My forehead started to sweat and I felt a hotflash coming on.
Still not much movement in traffic. Still no exits. Still no good shoulder hiding place. I thought maybe if I turned the A/C way up, it would having a “freezing” effect on my new nemesis and slow the potential mudslide to a crawl, allowing me time to find a gas station or at least a good wooded area. The A/C felt good for about two seconds until I realized that the shivering of my body was not allowing me to fully concentrate my muscles on keeping the backdoor shut. I backed off on the A/C.
I was in a full panic at this point, knowing that the end may be nigh. My mind darted through all of the options this car gave me. Did I have a plastic bag anywhere? No. I had an empty 20 oz bottle of lime Diet Coke in the cupholder – but the hole at the top was too small. Perhaps I could gnaw through the midsection of the bottle to create a bigger opening? Don’t be an idiot. Maybe I could just use my shoe as a receptacle and then drive straight home? I didn’t think I could pull that off – this was bound to be too messy to fit in a shoe.
At this point I did what any reasonable person would do. I prayed to ----. Now I realize that ---- has much to pay attention to: giving life to embryos, tending to the sick and hungry, ensuring that certain religious athletes perform well in big games, etc. However, at this point I selfishly wanted ---- to focus all his attention on ensuring that I did not have to drive home wallowing in my own filth.
There was one last option. The Gamble. You see, there was an outside chance that this lump getting ever closer to my sphincter was (mostly) gas. If I took The Gamble and won, I would at least be awarded several more minutes to find someplace to finish it off. But, a loss is a big loss.
After about 10 more seconds I decided to take The Gamble. I took a deep breath. I felt like Thelma and Louise when they finally decided to drive off the cliff. Except I’m a guy. And I was in the car alone.
I took the Gamble. And lost.
So I was set to drive my wife’s car today (’01 Jetta VR6) instead of my beloved ’04 TL. She needed an emissions test and I promised to do it for her.
I had a bunch of errands to run, so I started pretty early – around 8 AM. I know rush hour sucks in the DC area, but I decided to brave it so that I could finish my errands early in the day.
So, I took a big swig of coffee and headed out. As I left the house, I noticed a slight gurgling feeling in my stomach. I briefly considered going to the bathroom before I left, but I figured I was pretty safe as my usual BM hits around noon.
I got in the Jetta, noted once again how bland it felt compared to my TL, and headed off. I was driving around the beltway and ran into a ton of traffic at the I-270 spur. As soon as I realized that I’d be sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for a while, my stomach started to rumble again. This time it was more worrisome because I felt a tinge in the old poop chute. I began to curse the coffee I guzzled.
I tried a few different body positions, but my intestine continued to percolate.
I did what I usually try to do in this type of situation: think of something else. So I turned up the radio and listened to Howard Stern. I started having some pretty bad cramps. I figured that, instead of trying to think about something else, maybe I should try to think of nothing at all. So I went to Plan B: turn off the radio and try to think of a blank, white sheet of paper.
Intestinal festering did not cease. At this point, I started getting nervous. The road was packed with cars, we weren’t moving very fast, there was no exit for quite a while anyway, and (worse yet) no area on the shoulder to “hide” whilest doing the deed. This was the stuff nightmares are made of.
Now I was starting to panic. The cramps were worse, and every 30 seconds or so I’d really have to tense up to keep the lump in my intestine from traveling south. My forehead started to sweat and I felt a hotflash coming on.
Still not much movement in traffic. Still no exits. Still no good shoulder hiding place. I thought maybe if I turned the A/C way up, it would having a “freezing” effect on my new nemesis and slow the potential mudslide to a crawl, allowing me time to find a gas station or at least a good wooded area. The A/C felt good for about two seconds until I realized that the shivering of my body was not allowing me to fully concentrate my muscles on keeping the backdoor shut. I backed off on the A/C.
I was in a full panic at this point, knowing that the end may be nigh. My mind darted through all of the options this car gave me. Did I have a plastic bag anywhere? No. I had an empty 20 oz bottle of lime Diet Coke in the cupholder – but the hole at the top was too small. Perhaps I could gnaw through the midsection of the bottle to create a bigger opening? Don’t be an idiot. Maybe I could just use my shoe as a receptacle and then drive straight home? I didn’t think I could pull that off – this was bound to be too messy to fit in a shoe.
At this point I did what any reasonable person would do. I prayed to ----. Now I realize that ---- has much to pay attention to: giving life to embryos, tending to the sick and hungry, ensuring that certain religious athletes perform well in big games, etc. However, at this point I selfishly wanted ---- to focus all his attention on ensuring that I did not have to drive home wallowing in my own filth.
There was one last option. The Gamble. You see, there was an outside chance that this lump getting ever closer to my sphincter was (mostly) gas. If I took The Gamble and won, I would at least be awarded several more minutes to find someplace to finish it off. But, a loss is a big loss.
After about 10 more seconds I decided to take The Gamble. I took a deep breath. I felt like Thelma and Louise when they finally decided to drive off the cliff. Except I’m a guy. And I was in the car alone.
I took the Gamble. And lost.
