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    • Golf46

      I actually have 2 stories. Story #1 I was flying home from Costa Rica with my girlfriend who would eventually become my wife and about midway through the 4 hour flight headed to the bathroom to take care of business. 5 days worth of spicy Costa Rican food came shooting out of me, filling the toilet nearly to the brim. If you look at most airplane toilets, there is a graphic telling you to close the lid prior to flushing. I did not heed this warning. I stood up, flushed and suddenly found myself covered in diarrhea. It was as if a bomb had exploded in the bowl. There was diarrhea on the ceiling, on all four walls, on the mirror, in my hair, on my face and all over my shirt. I turned around and behind where I had been standing was my silhouette made out of shit.  I did my best to wipe up the horrible mess and clean myself off. Fortunately no one was waiting to use the bathroom when I left, I can only imagine what that poor soul who went in there next thought. I returned to my seat with and sat down next to my girlfriend. She looked at me and asked what the hell happened and where that horrible stench was coming from. It was a long 2 hours until we landed.    Story #2 I’m on a 3rd or 4th date with this girl and after we had dinner we walked around for a bit and I felt that special grumble. The closest bathroom I knew of was about a 1 minute walk away in a department store. I excused myself and made a beeline for the can. About halfway there I feel like I was about to explode, I freeze in my tracks knowing that if I move a single muscle its all over for me. About a minute goes by and the wave subsides. I resume my power walking and make it to just outside the bathroom when wave #2 hits. Again I freeze in my tracks. A minute goes by. 2 minutes and I’m still completely frozen in place. I’m starting to get sweaty and I’m sure people are wondering why this weirdo is doing his best stature impression in front of the bathroom.  Khaki shorts and flip flops were the wrong choice today. My body finally gives up, my strength is depleted, I have to relax and in that moment all hell breaks loose. Out of my butt. I sprint into the bathroom, leaving a trail of shit from the door of the bathroom into the stall. I rip off my shorts and slam down onto the toilet, sweet relief.  Then I have to survey the damage. My shorts are beyond ruined, as are my boxers. My legs are covered in diarrhea which also fills my flip flops. Remove the shorts and boxers put them in a shitty pile in the corner of the stall. Flip flops off, dunk them in the freshly flushed toilet to rinse them. Wiping my legs off is taking way too long, not enough water. Solution: stand in the toilet and splash myself to speed up the process.  Legs as clean as they are going to get, its time to open the stall and see what horrors await me. The trail I left from bathroom entry to the stall is all too real and not just in my head. I’m on all fours, wearing only a polo shirt furiously scrubbing the floor with paper towels but really only managing to fill the grout lines of the tile with shit.  Imagine if you will that you walk into this bathroom at this moment. In front of you is a grown-ass man on all fours, wearing only a polo shirt spreading shit all over the floor. Thank God no one came in, I am truly lucky I didn’t get arrested for being a bioterrorist. Eventually I’ve done all I can do. I’ve now been in the bathroom at least 20 minutes. I have no choice but to call my date and ask her to bring some shorts to the bathroom (I have no idea what I would have done had I not been in a department store). She starts asking questions and I just tell her to do it and hang up. She shows up a few minutes later with the shorts and I put myself back together as best I can. I emerge from my own personal hell and find her standing there with a quizzical look.  “Don’t ask, you don’t want to know.”  That was our last date.

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