Home bowl syndrome

I'm pretty sure the Blackberry was invented for wasting time in the crapper. I'll play Brickbreaker until my legs fall asleep.

 

Two stories:
I stopped at a SuperAmerica in Minnesota to get gas.

I filled up the car and went in to use the bathroom, which had a single toilet. I step in and immediately felt like vomiting. The toilet is filled with shit, piss, toilet paper, paper towels, water, spit, semen (?), everything. It's filled to the top with this satanic collection of bodily fluids. Holding my breath, I piss, adding to the rising level of waste. I now debate, should I go for a flush? Is this shit here because one person did it and was such a slobbish bastard they didn't flush? Or has it accumulated over several days, and it's now backed up?

I also think about if someone comes in after me. If they see me, will they think I did this? Will they think that's my shit in there? I couldn't handle it. Even if I never see that person again, I can't have them thinking I did this. So I take a chance and flush. A second later, the entire toilet overflows, gushing over the sides of the toilet and onto the floor.

Shit.

I'm like fucking Hakeem with the footwork in that bathroom, nimbly avoiding the waste. I flee the bathroom. But now I panic. I can hear it flooding over the toilet and onto the floor. I can't even imagine what that floor will look like in 30 seconds, much less a few minutes. Originally I was going to pay for the gas with a credit card. I planned on getting one of those microwavable chicken sandwiches and a 20-ounce Mountain Dew. But I can't pay with a credit card now, they'll have my name and link it to the video surveillance as they try to see the last person who was in the bathroom before all hell broke loose. I process all this in about two seconds. Unfortunately, I don't have any cash. The ATM is about six feet from the bathroom. Sweating, I put the card in, type the code. Language? English. Savings or checking? Checking. $20. Accept fee? Yes. Processing. Processing.

The whole time I can still hear the shit and piss falling onto the floor in the men's room. Thankfully no one's gone in behind me. Finally the cash comes out. I run up to the counter, pay for gas, which was like 18 dollars, and tell the guy to keep the change. I sprint to the car and peel out, headed back on the highway. The two-dollar tip I gave the poor clerk...probably not enough for the hell he had waiting for him. I felt terrible, leaving that mess. Perhaps I should have told him about it, but, again, I would have had to wonder if he thought I was solely responsible for everything that came out. Yes, it was my fault that I tried to flush it. But again, I couldn't have him thinking my bowels and bladder produced that mess.

Safely on the road, I began panicking. I pictured the local news showing a grainy video of me emerging from the bathroom or as I pumped gas.

"Police are looking for this man, in connection with the death of 22-year-old Patrick Swanson, a SuperAmerica attendant who died Sunday when he slipped on the bathroom floor he was cleaning and drowned in a small puddle of feces and urine."

And the other story, involving my cousin. We ate at Old Country Buffet and he had the bowels of a two-month old. Shortly after going back on the road, he has to do his business so we pull into a McDonald's. We wait in the car and he's in there for like 20 god damn minutes. Finally he comes back. He went right in, sat down and started going. A few seconds later, a guy came in with his little girl, who had to use the toilet. She kept saying she had to go and Dad would say, "In a second honey. Someone is in it right now but he will be done shortly." Matt kept thinking, no, no I won't. And the fucking guy refused to leave until Matt was done and they stood about a foot outside the stall; he could see their feet under the door. He kept going and flushing, wiping, and repeating. And all the while the little girl kept asking her dad what was taking so long. The little girl was scarred, I'm sure. But not as much as my cousin.

 

Oh yeah...all right...

 

Bravo, Small Town Guy. Bravo. My eyes are watering.

 

I echo Batman's accolades. Well done.

 

Fucking awesome.

But...

Not as awesome as this. Holy shit was this epic. If we still voted for Post of the Year, this would have to be the leader in the clubhouse. Or the outhouse.

 

This thread has taken quite the turn so I figured I would add my own epic crap stories.

EC#1 - I am staying in a Hostel in Bundaberg, Australia with unisex bathrooms in an old converted 2 story hotel. After a night of beer and meat pies I find the most out of the way toilet and wreack havok for an intense 4 minutes.

When I open the door a very pretty Durch girl is standing there waiting to use the facility and I don't know whether to warn her or just try to walk away and not make eye contact. I choose the latter and endure Snickers from every Dutch person at the hostel over the next few days.

EC#2 - I am out boozing it up with buddies at a club when one of my room mates and I decide to get something to eat and walk home. We stop at a Subway where much hilarity (at least in our minds) ensues as we banter with the sandwhich artist about his ill fitting hat.

About a block from our house I mention that I need to have a grumpie and my buddy says "you should shit on that" pointing to a gleaming white Chrysler K car. I loathed these cars although I am not really sure why. I climbed up on the hood and crapped on the white steel. In between impolring my buddy to kill his laughter, trying to stop my own, and of course the business at hand, it was not the most relaxing crap but certainly the most memorable.

 

If you're out in the field, though, and eating MREs, going Number Two is not an issue. Until the fourth day, when it all explodes out of you at once.

MREs stands for "Meal Resisting Exit."

 

Small Town Guy's post was the funniest thing I have read on here in ages, just brilliant, HOF stuff.

Came upon a situation like that during my days at Canon when I stopped by the can next to our department to take a squirt and walked into the carnage of an overflowing shitter. Took off like Usain Bolt lest anyone think it was me!

 

The worst one I've ever had was in New York about six or so years ago. I was on a spring break trip to some college journalists convention and had just experienced White Castle for the first time. I was in there for about 10-20 minutes and I know it was going to be epic.

Suffice to say, I planned my day around it and waited until the group I was with was ready to leave before assaulting it Hiroshima style.

I did my business and it was majestic. The kind of crap, well, that you remember six years later.

Upon flushing, I immediately high-tail it out of there and the group and I go out on the town for a couple hours.

We come back later that night and it was like walking into my colon. Even five hours and ventilation couldn't rid the hotel room of that smell. Needless to say, the three people I was sharing the room with were not thrilled with me and, for the next two days, I felt like it was ingrained in my pores or something.

it was the ultimate lingerer.

 

Nothing like a little hang time.

 

Did a story with a unit getting ready to deploy/going through training - they told me out in the field once you're done with the MRE - the proper ettiquette is to crap in the bag.