I’m not sure if I got the handle on this whole blogging thing but I think, in order to make things interesting I must shake things up a bit. Like, who wants to be boring and a follower, right? So here’s what I want to do: every Thursday I want to share a throwback story about a part of my life. Some stories will be dangerously hilarious and others might be ridiculously sad, but I really want to try this out so here I go.
The year was 2011, the season was the devil’s breath, I went to visit a friend of mine–We’ll call her Sarah for now as she and I are no longer on speaking terms but I wish to protect her privacy–in Fayetteville, North Carolina and I had an absolutely unforgettable time. At the time I was living in New York City, my hometown and Sarah had just left New York City a few months prior and moved down to North Carolina.
Sarah and I visited the army base where her sister and brother-in-law were both active, we hit the gym and pool, we hit a couple of clubs, Sarah even gave me driving lessons(I’m a true New Yorker, train and bus rides are more my thing; driving doesn’t come naturally for me). However, through all of the fun and excitement, I just couldn’t get over how bloated I felt. In the pool It felt like I had a built in full-body floater on; I’d jump in the water and almost instantly pop right back up.
I did everything to get rid of the feeling; I drank water like a fish and that didn’t help, I pushed myself harder than I probably should have when Sarah and I worked out and that didn’t help either, I danced more and harder than a Go-Go dancer when we went clubbing and that didn’t help, I played with the flab on my tummy and talked to it and told it to go down and that definitely didn’t help, neither did sleeping on my stomach. Nothing helped so I started thinking that maybe it was just somehow all in my head.
But, of course it wasn’t. Sarah and I went to the mall one day after doing a little walking around we stumbled upon this kiosk that was selling this massage thingy where you had to stick the little thingies attached to wires on the desired body part in which you wanted to be massaged (it kinda reminded me of that monitor thingy doctors place all over your body when you’re old and getting a physical.) Sarah was all “ooh” and I was all “ahh” so we ooh’d and ahh’d our behinds on over to the Kiosk and the cute little blonde who was working the Kiosk looked startled. I initially thought it was because we were black–after all we were down south–but I wasn’t trying to cause a scene so I just ignored it and kept ahh’ing.
Sarah asked if she could try out the super cool massage thingy and the cute blonde is like “oh, sure, let me just put this here, and put that there and this here and you’re all set to go.” From the way Sarah’s eye’s grew big and from the sounds of her moans I just knew I had to try it next! But when I asked if I could try it next, the cute blonde said no.
No? What the hell do you mean, no? Why not?
“Why not?” I asked her, feeling the New Yorker in me rearing her head. Boy, was this girl’s awkwardness turned up!
She bit her lip, rocked from foot to foot, fidgeted with her nails, she even stuttered. And then she finally came right out and said,
“I can’t, er, because I am not allowed to use this machine on pregnant women”
Pregnant? Bitch, what?
Sarah and I just stood there, eyebrows raised mouths gaped with incredulous looks on our faces. “But, I’m not pregnant…” I told her. The corners of my mouth damn near touched my chin and my furrowed eyebrows almost switched sides as I watched her eyes go from “yeah, sorry” to “O.M.G” and her skin go from fair to scarlet.
She stumbled over her words “Oh, My god, I thought–I just as–I’m so sorry”
Of course I forgave her because I really wanted to try this super cool massage thingy (and it was totally worth it!) I told her it was okay, but that didn’t stop her from going into broken record mode, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”
Sarah and I waited until we were a few feet away from the Kiosk before we both burst out laughing. Sarah said she would give me something to help alleviate the bloating.
She gave me this laxative tea. It was supposed to rid my body of any yucky stuff that it may have been holding back but…the tea didn’t work. So the next day I had another cup and still…nothing. The next morning I thought about having another cup and suddenly Sarah’s sister suggested we take a road trip to South Carolina to go to the Aquarium and then the Zoo. On the way there I realized South Carolina was one hell of a car ride away and I also realized that the tea was starting to work…finally. At. The. Wrong.Damn.Time.
I told Sarah of my “situation” and she was just as dumbfounded as I was, “wow, why now?” she asked. It was the million dollar question! “Well, you can’t poop in the car so hold your butt together until we stop somewhere” she said matter-of-factly. Yeah, Sarah, easier said than done…MUCH easier said than done.
We stopped at McDonald’s and I made a mad dash to the bathroom like there was fire on my ass (be quiet) but you see, the thing is I’m not a fan of PIP (Pooping In Public) so I was a little shy but then I had to think, did I want to be shy or did I want to let the demon out of me? Yeah, I opted for the latter.
As slowly as possible I let it out, careful not to make too much noise. It didn’t help that the bathroom was extremely compact and my gas kept coming out like a pack of expelled fire crackers on the back of a motorcycle, but I was relieved…only momentarily, though.
With clenched butt cheeks I toughed out the rest of the car ride. I toughed out the walk through the huge ass aquarium and I toughed out the stroll through the zoo (seeing my monkey’s took my mind off of my problems.) I was relieved when we were finally on the way back to Sarah’s house.
But of course life is never that simple. Sarah’s sister suggested that we go to Golden Corral for dinner as a “farewell/ Thank you for visiting dinner” for me. Oh boy, once again I was faced with a dilemma. Did I want to try out a restaurant that I’ve never tried before? Or did I want to just spend the rest of the night on the toilet? Yup, you guessed it. Food won.
The buffet styled restaurant was huge! Food everywhere! I didn’t have much of an appetite but that wasn’t going to stop me from eating. I mean, If my “situation” wasn’t going to stop me, neither was my lack of appetite.
I ate a plate then told Sarah (in Sign language of course, to spare myself the embarrassment) that I really had to go, now. She was a true friend and told me “So, go.” Insert desperate blank stare here. She got the hint and we walked together to the bathroom.
So there I am in the semi-empty bathroom in a stall, silently praying that I wouldn’t embarrass myself. I let it out little by little, a toot here and there and finally I felt momentarily relieved again. I was all “Ugh, never again, dude,” reached for some tissue and badabing-badaboom there wasn’t any. There wasn’t any freakin’ tissue in the dispenser thingy! NOTHING. AT. ALL.
Luckily Sarah was in the next stall, so I waved my hand under the wall that separated the stalls to get her attention and told her I needed tissue, in sign language, of course. She gave me just enough to wipe myself if I had only did number 1. I signed “M-O-R-E” and she gave me more.
Then turned around to flush and it was that moment that I realized that I didn’t go to church enough nor did I ever have the desire to go and for that I was being punished. As, one should have gathered, my stool was loose so when I was tooting, poop was shooting out–on the wall, on the seat, on the handle bar….everywhere.
Once again I found myself waving under the wall, this time frantically and this time I told Sarah to give me the whole damn roll. She tried to ask me why but I didn’t have the type of time to explain, I motioned for her to hurry up.
I tried my best to wipe it all up (disgusting, I know) but the wiping only smeared everything. I had to get out of there quickly! I bolted from the stall and at this point only Sarah and me were in the bathroom (thank goodness!) I told her what happened and she found the entire situation hilarious–let’s keep in mind it didn’t exactly smell like a rose garden in the bathroom so I didn’t know what was so funny.
After I washed my hands for the hundredth time I finally went to go dry my hands. A mother and small child burst into the bathroom. I watched as she looked into the first stall (Sarah’s stall) and saw there was no tissue so she moved onto the next stall (the crime scene) and jolted backwards. She angrily shook her head and muttered under her breath. Now, my hearing isn’t perfect or even close to good but I swear she said “ugh, people are F***in pigs”
I took offense to that because I indeed am not a pig! But when she looked at me and Sarah and said “You see this s***?” we both pressed our lips together and shook our heads like “yeah, that’s crazy, right?” and hauled ass out of that bathroom.
And, That was that time when I learned to never drink any laxative tea unless I planned on staying in the house for a week, I learned to check the stalls for tissue FIRST before entering while in the public bathroom, and I learned that Golden Corral’s food is the bomb!