Tales from the crapper

Before any of you read this, I must warn you, this post is going to be a little gross, but nevertheless necessary.  It’s a question I feel that’s been pondering many men for ages, and must be addressed.  So for the mothers and older women out there who can easily get disgusted, please ignore this post.  You’ll thank me later, but I would encourage any lady out there who can stomach this potty talk to comment on their insight, for I would love to hear if you’ve ever had the same experience.

The year was 1998.  I was roaming the halls of my school, which in Asotin was a combined Jr. and Sr. High School, when out of nowhere my ever agitated best friend comes running out of the bathroom with a giant grin on his face and says to me “Man, you gotta go see this.”  Not in a hurry to get back to class, I ventured into the bathroom not knowing what to expect.  Slowly I creeped up to the 2^nd stall to find out what it was that my friend insisted that I had to see.  I peaked into the cell, which would soon be a sight I would never forget.  The stall was literally covered in shit.  I mean, completely.  The inside bowl, the seat, the walls, hell, there was even poo protruding out of the creases of the cell, with colors spanning from yellow and green, to black, with even a hint of red in places.  Too most, this would be a disgusting event, which would induce vomiting.  To a Jr. higher, it was an uproarious occasion that almost left me with a similar situation inside by trousers.

That was my first encounter with what I call the, “the Grenade Shit.”  I define it this way because there is no solid turd, and but more of an even spread of excrement completely covering the bowl and anything else it can reach, as if a turd was there, but was blown up by a grenade after leaving the body.   They almost always appear in public bathrooms; stadiums, schools, airports, you name it.  We’ve all seen them when there’s a line to use the toilets with every stall in use except for one.  Most of us know better, and patiently wait in line, knowing there’s a reason why the cell is unoccupied.  Then in comes the well-dressed businessman, seeing an opportunity to get into the shitter quickly and beat the line.   Once inside, a “God Damnit!” Shriek is heard as the man who’s time was more important than others, realizes the error of his ways; that he yet again walked into a doo doo covered stall.  Taking a walk of shame, he storms out of the bathroom all pissed-off, face beat red, and his toupee messed up to stands in line amongst the others.

A similar incident happened at work a couple weeks ago while I took a trip to the bathroom to do my business and an innocent patron walk into a stall to look upon an unforgiving sight.  While hearing the man grunt and walk away, I started to think, “how does this happen?”  It had been the first time I had asked myself that question, and I honestly did not have an answer to such a serious issue.   Never in my life have I taken a crap where the end product ends up spread out evenly along the walls of the bowl.  I mean, when some people take dumps, do they just spray like mad?  Or does somebody just play around with it after they’re done, like stick of dynamite in it and watch the carnage?  And why is there usually toilet paper all over the place?  Do some people just like to go ape shit in the stall and mess everything up?  Even if they do, they must be professionals, for the TP and poo is spread out so evenly, it can almost be considered art.  I mean, there is no explanation for this unnatural occurrence!  It’s like one of those questions like “What’s the meaning of life,” or “What’s the sound of one hand clapping?”  This quickly became a thinking exercise I would use for daily meditation that would help clear my mind.

While spending a couple weeks pondering how this situation, something else happened during another trip to the bathroom.  While I was contently doing my business in the second stall, I couldn’t help but notice an innocent bystander, who by the khaki pants seemed to be a navy officer, scurry himself into stall no. 3, the one with all the problems.  “This can’t be good.” I thought to myself, and almost mentioned something, but couldn’t.  You never talk to another man while pumpin’ a grumpy, especially a stranger.  So there it was, I had led him to his fate.  Noticing there was some left over debris from the last shit storm, he gave a courtesy flush and proceeded to sitting down.  And that was when everything went wrong.

The next thing I know, water was overflowing from the toilet.  As the toilet water hit his buns, the navy officer shot up with a big “Son of a bitch!” screech, picked up his pants that had been drenched with toilet water, bust open the door with a fierce front kick, and stop out of the bathroom angrier and more frustrated that he was unable to relieve the pressure inside his colon.  All I could do was watch through the cracks in horror as the water slowly creped into my stall.  I knew I didn’t have much time, therefore I squeezed out the rest of my wasteful products from my body, wiped like a mad man, and got the hell out of there, miraculously unharmed.

Looking back at the situation, I think to myself “If I had only stayed a couple of seconds longer, I could’ve looked into the other cell and found the answer to the unknown that has been haunting mankind for so long…”  I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance at to find this out, and I may have to go through the rest of my life unfulfilled with that one thing that is missing.  The mystery of the grenade shit.

So now every time I go to the stall at work, which is often I may add, I think about this and wonder about the unanswered question that I almost found, but will never understand.  The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that when pooping at work, I get paid copious amounts of money to do so.  In fact, if my calculations are correct, it’s probably been about $10,000 worth of cash that I’ve made, just by sitting on the pot (all at tax payer’s expense I might add).

So in conclusion, if you know the answer to this problem in our society, please share it with everyone.  You won’t be judged as long as you post on this blog, even if you’re a culprit.  I just need to know the answer.  So please, if you have any information, enlighten me and free me from this pain I’ve been feeling for so long…

NY on NY's!

On December 30^th, 2010 Ben Woodward and myself embarked to the great city of New York, to experience the granddaddy part of them all: The New Years celebration at Times Square.  Our hotel was smack dab in the middle of the square giving us prime seats to watch the ball drop, and we had the energy to live it up in the busiest city in the world.   Ben sucks, and I hate him, but throughout our stay in NYC, I realized how terrible of a person he really is.  Screw that guy.  Just remember, if you every visit New York, remember as you gaze upon the sight of the statue of liberty how bad you’d like to punch Ben in the face.

Anyways, like most partiers on New Years, our night began with some excessive drinking, going to and from the hotel finding ways to wreak havoc on the city.  Now, I don’t know what it is about the NYPD, but it seemed to me as if each one of them had a stick permanently impaled into their rectum.  We would respectfully ask them questions such as “If we leave how hard is it to get back in,” or “Can we get across the street to get to the Sbarro?”  Quickly, they would shoot back with their obnoxious New York attitude “HEY YOU SEE WHAT I’M DEALIN’ WIT HERE!?”  or “THEY DON’T WANT YA, TRY BACK INA HOUR” and “DON’T BODDA ME, DON’T YA SEE I’M WORKIN’ HERE!?”

Knowing we couldn’t venture out and get food, without running the risk of not getting back into the square, we headed back up to our hotel hoping to score some overly priced room service.  Amazingly, we were the only ones who entered the elevator.  Therefore, I pressed button 19 to head to our floor.  However, the alcohol in Ben’s body worked through his bloodstream and up to his brain, giving him the good idea of pressing every single button above 19 (up to floor 43), just like in the movie “Elf.”  This was all innocent fun, until we reach the 5^th floor, when an elderly woman entered the elevator, reaching for the 39^th floor button, only to realize it was already pressed, along with every other button above our floor.  My initial reaction was an “Oh no!  We’re gonna get in so much trouble!”  Both of us stood silent as we began ascending toward our floor.  No eye contact was made as the woman gazed upon the button layout, confused as to how something like this could have happened.  For a short moment, there was a slight glimmer of hope that she might not know it was us.  We could actually pull this off!  Everything was going all right until we hit the 12^th floor.  A quick snicker came out of my mouth, followed by a snicker from Ben.  The chuckles grew louder and harder to contain the higher we got, and by the time we had made our escape to the 19^th, it was too late.  Our scattered giggles turned into a full blown howls of laughter as well left the poor woman with her blank stare overwhelmed with the situation presented in front of her.  She took the rest of her long elevator ride in sadness.

After our meal, a couple more drinks, and a few fights, it was getting close to the time that everybody waits for; The dropping of the ball.  Excitement was high, and I was ready to celebrate.  I was near a gate in which the police had been trying to contain people in, and so far, they were doing a pretty good job.  It was within the final minute, and the countdown had begun.  Police had been shoving people left and right, including me a couple times.  That was ok though, I was in too good of a mood to let it get to me.  The 5-second countdown had begun, and at that moment, all hell broke loose.

5 - The crowd had become too fierce to contain, and a massive blitzkrieg of force from the crowd broke through the gates, leaving NYPD helpless in stopping the masses.

4 - I ran out to the square like mad man as the count commenced, followed by thousands of others.

3- No No No!  Screamed the police, frantically doing everything they could to delay the countdown.  There was no stopping this blast off.

2 – Out of sight from police I was in the square within sight of the ball.  This was it.  Time was running out, and this was a test that stretched the capabilities of the human body.

1 – Stepping out and looking forward, there it was in all her glory; The legendary ball in all of her splendor.  Thousands joined as we gazed upon the magical sight and prepared to shout the famous words in the most famous city square in the world.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

A sea of confetti blasted through the air as we screamed the words.  We had done it!  And I was ecstatic!  The aura of the celebration caused a reaction in my body to run amuck, giving everybody I saw a hug/kiss/new years wish!  Then all of a sudden, an uncontrollable sensation come about me and before you know it, I was in the middle of big circle of Asians crowded around with camera lights flashing as I got down and pulled of the dirtiest stanky leg dance that had ever been graced upon the City of New York, a move Mr. Woodward and myself had been mimicking for hours each day since we watched Soulja boi pull it off with style and elegance.  Pretty soon, people were having their pictures taken with me like I was some famous street performer.

The night after that turned into sort of a blur, talking to some guy from Seattle but then suddenly having him run off to chase after some cougar, taking pictures of a bunch of cops, and running amongst the confetti ridden streets.  All of a sudden, I woke up on top of my bed, covered in red white and blue tissue paper, and quite dehydrated.  I walked down to a corner store near the hotel to get some water and energy drink.  Upon my return to the hotel, I kept on getting looks of approval from people and comments such as “Hey what’s up drunk guy?”  Then it dawned on me.  I had somewhat become a celebrity for a day, the most popular guy in Time Square for that one brief moment.  While I savored this thought, I walked back up to my room with a grin on my face.  I knew the trip was worth it, and although I miss the west side of the country, I’m glad I was blessed with the opportunity to live in Washington DC.

I got to thinking, “I’ve had a pretty amazing December.”  I got to see the Saints play in Baltimore, and let alone visit a city I never thought I’d ever go to, having an awesome time in the process.  I spent some quality time with family and hang out with the good ol’ boys if Giles county Virginia, and to top it off, I got to sound off the New Year in a place where people dream of going.  So as I’m riding on the train back to DC writing this blog entry and listening to Coldplay (It just showed up on the playlist, totally coincidental), what started as sharing all the stupid/obnoxious/fun things I did over the weekend has turned into a humbling experience in a way.  So on that note, while you’re thinking of the stresses of traveling/school/work/relationships or whatever it may be, take a little time to think about some of the great experiences you had over the year.  You may be surprised at how much you’ve done, and thankful to be where you’re at, surrounded by the people who care about you the most.