As mentioned in another post, I was never a big fan of asking to use people’s bathroom. Food and water, no big deal. Even asking if I had to go #1 wasn’t that bad. But if #2 was necessary, I always found a gas station or a fast food place.
Almost every day was in a new area, I would check my map to see what was around me. Today, I was smack dap in the middle of a big, residential neighborhood when I felt the urge. I looked over my map one more time. Nothing but houses for seven or eight blocks. I called Steve and explained the situation. He laughed and said that I was the fourth person to call him about that and joked that I should just use a customer’s sink. Also, he couldn’t give me a ride. He was in a house trying to close for Taylor and was about a half hour away. “Call me back if you come down this way,” I told Steve, even though I knew it wouldn’t happen.
I hung up with Steve. I felt some pressure and held it in until it rolled over. I looked at my map again for the closest area that would have public bathrooms. I found a spot where the freeway cut through the neighborhood about a half mile away. “There has got to be a gas station somewhere around there,” I thought as I started my hike.
As I walked all my energy was focused on holding my bowels in. I knew if I didn’t I’d have a pretty embarrassing accident and no one is going to buy ANYTHING from a guy who crapped his pants. I got within a block of where I thought a public bathroom would be and there was nothing. Just an overpass with no on or off ramp. I was getting a little worried.
I looked around and saw a yard sale just a few houses down. I made some small chat and then asked, “Do you know where a gas station or a McDonalds or something like that is around here? The closer the better.” I was hoping they would think I was hungry the way I worded the question.
I was directed down another street all the while praying that I would be able to hold this billowing burden in my gut long enough to make it to the toilet. At last I saw the golden arches of McDonalds. I raced into the bathroom and locked the door to the only stall just in time to burst. Sweet relief.
As I was doing my business I heard three or four guys run into the bathroom. Having had a few run-ins with gangs in Kansas City, I was a bit worried. Then I heard one of them say, “Firstline! Hahahaha!”
“How did they know I was with Firstline?” I thought. Then I saw my sales binder with the Firstline logo on top of the baby changing station in the stall just in view from the other side of the stall door.
“Chet? That you?” one of them said. I recognized the voice now. It was Peter from the office. The always up-beat, super motivated, black guy.
“Yeah, I’m almost done.” I said.
“Hurry up, there’s four of us and we need to go BAD,” he responded.
I finished my business and made my way out to the seating area. Peter quickly took my place in the stall and I sat down to talk with the other guys. They filed back one at a time, and all looked pretty panicked that they might not be able to hold it long enough to make it.
None of us were sure what was wrong with all of us. Luke, the other boss, had picked up three guys to drive them to the bathroom; Steve had gotten several calls he couldn’t respond to; and a bunch of others found places to relieve themselves. With three quarters of the office crapping their guts out, the only thing we could think of was maybe it was some bad food at one of our office potlucks.
I already had the rule not to eat unpackaged food from customers (see “Kenny and the Spiked Potato), now I also had to worry about office party food.
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