Through all the years of my life, I have come to the conclusion that I am good for two things: Getting myself into awful situations, and living to tell about the aftermath. Some of these involve alcohol, some involve medications, but ALL of them include my general dumbassery which far outweigh the effects of anything else. These are the stories. Don’t judge me.
The Hotel Toilet Affair
A few years ago I had to take a day trip up to Fort Bragg, California. Not wanting to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to drive four hours there, work all day and drive four hours back, I decided to split the difference and leave the night before, spending the night in Santa Rosa. This was actually quite convenient since I had business to tend to the day before in Santa Rosa anyway, and my good friend and co-worker Mike happened to live there as well.
So I made my way up to wine country, worked until I got bored and made plans with Mike and his wife to grab dinner and drinks that night. I told them to swing by my hotel and pick me up after work. The plan was to get an early meal, maybe a drink or two and get to bed since I still had a decent little drive in front of me in the morning.
Now, I have a weird check in procedure when I am on the road for work. I always check in, get my room key, and immediately go into the room to check everything out before I even go to the car to get my luggage. I don’t know why I do this, I just do. Maybe I have OCD or really want to make sure there aren’t any zombies, vampires or mothmen in the room. The point is, this trip was no different. I got my key. I went to the room. And checked for boogeymen.
Except this time it dropped. And by it, I mean the 15 pounds of dump that gravity pulled from my intestine, directly into my colon. The insta-shits were here, and they were not going to leave me alone until I allowed them the proper attention. I immediately booked it to the bathroom, plopped my ass on the toilet and let ‘er rip.
The recoil was fierce. Without going into too much detail, I have seen modern day battlefields that looked less frightening than the inside of this commode once I was through. I am not sure what I ate for lunch in July of 1994, but it was finally coming out close to 15 years later. That is how bad it was.
Anyhow, I finished, wiped my ass and cleaned myself up. All that was left to do was to flush and bask in the glory of losing 13 pounds instantly. I pulled on the handle and waited for the toilet to do its familiar routine of swirling and sucking. Except it didn’t swirl and suck.
In fact, it swirled and burped. Much to my chagrin, the toilet wouldn’t flush and as the poo water level rose, I started to panic. I tried flushing again, but no go. The poo stew was just sitting there. Mocking me. Refusing to hide my shame. It demanded that I tell someone with authority at this hotel what I had done. The Telltale Heart for modern times. The Telltale Shit, if you will.
In hindsight, the smart play would have been to walk right back to the front desk, acting all offended, and demand a new room since this one had a jumbo piece of hemp rope sticking out of the crapper. Afterall, I had been in the room for a grand total of 10 minutes so it would have been completely plausible. But hindsight is exactly that, hindsight. And I wasn’t sharp enough to think of this.
Instead, I hastily slammed the lid on the toilet shut and left to meet Mike and his wife out front. The shit in question was still on my mind as we ate dinner, but I dare not speak its name. I simply brushed it aside as we sucked down a pitcher of Great White beer and moved our party on to the pool hall. We were feeling good and at this point, I decided to tell my good night’s sleep to fuck off. After three more pitchers of beer and an awful attempt at playing pool, Mike dropped me back off at my hotel. I bid them adieu and stumbled back to my room feeling about 75% numb.
I opened the door and immediately collapse on the bed. I slept until about three in the morning when I am awakened by my kidneys and bladder telling me how pissed off they are at me for being filled with piss. I hobbled into the bathroom, kick open the lid with my foot and am immediately met with, what can only be described as a murder scene that rivaled any Freddy Krueger movie with the stench of about 3,000 bums after a gang bang. After holding back vomit and tears simultaneously, I aimed, fired and added about 3 quarts of beer urine to the concoction. I immediately flushed upon finishing, thinking that the time spent in the bowl, would have softened the poo to a manageable sludge that the industrial type toilet could handle.
I was wrong.
I have never been more wrong my life about anything.
I watched in equal parts amazement and horror as the toxic soup rose and stopped right at the brim of overflowing. As it came to an unstable stop at the cusp, I slowly lowered the lid on my shame, washed up, and went to bed. Surely by morning this matter would be resolved.
I was wrong.
When my alarm goes off at 6 in the morning, I realize that, not only do I have to take a massive dump, but that toilet has been sitting, clogged with my feces, urine and toilet paper, all night. Naturally it smelled like Baghdad and looked like death. and I couldn’t sit on the fucking thing because it was still too full and I didn’t want my ass touching the stuff that came out of it. So like a good child from the 1980’s, I took hold of my surroundings and MacGuyvered it.
I propped on leg up on the sink that was directly to the right of the toilet, and the other on the bathtub wall and popped a Spiderman squat above the cesspool I created. And as I concentrated on not falling into the abyss, while trying not laugh at the absurdity of the situation, I bellowed, “DEATH FROM ABOVE!” and dropped my payload.
The fallout was amazing. Truly a thing of beauty. After finishing my shameful deed. I showered, tiptoed out of what now was an overflowing pot of waste, and packed my stuff away. As I started to walk out of the hotel room, I stopped, looked at the bathroom and an awful thought creeped into my head. A evil, Mr. Grinch like smile sprawled out across my face as I walked back into the bathroom, kicked the lever with my shoe and hauled ass out of the room, leaving an overflowing river of Sam in my wake.
Feeling quite emboldened by my mischief. I sat in calm silence while I treated myself to their continental breakfast and free copy of the USA Today. As I walked to the front desk to check out, I happened to take a gander down the hall and caught my eye on the cleaning staff. The poor lady must have been in her 60’s and appeared to be working hard. She had no idea what was in store for her in approximately 10 minutes when she got to my room.
I checked out, told them that I did, in fact, enjoy my stay and might even fill out the online survey they would send to me. And as they wished me a happy friday on my way out, I couldn’t resist. I turned, and told the lady, “Oh by the way, I took a MASSIVE dump in the toilet. Clogged that thing until it flatlined. You may want to call for backup. Have a great friday yourself!”
I never got sent the online survey.
Again, not my proudest moment.