Twisted Shit (In My Shoe)

WARNING: If you have a weak stomach avoid this entry . . .

There are embarrassing things and then there are tragedies.  I don’t even know what to call the incident that happened yesterday, but I can’t let it go by without telling you about it, although you may never read me again afterwards.  But that’s okay.

Only once in my life have I had a similar experience, and that was during childbirth.  I don’t think you can compare the two, really.  I mean, if you bear down and push hard enough while having a baby, lots of women poop on the table.  It just happens.  No one talks about it much.  Needless to say, if you’ve never gone through the experience, do not eat huge meals before labor.  Your medical staff will be so incredibly appreciative.

* * * * *

After gaining about 20 pounds I stopped insulin shots and began attempting to control my food intake.  But it’s kind of messed with my gastrointestinal system because I’m all over the place.  Sometimes I eat a salad for the day, other times I just eat.  All day.

Three days ago I had a can of pork and beans at around 9 pm.  Two days ago I had a salad around midnight, nothing else.

Yesterday I’d been out all day and had coffee left in a cup from the morning, I drank some of it while driving down the Garden State Parkway.  And suddenly I felt a rumbling in my stomach.  Ugh.  But I knew there was a rest stop ahead so I hit the gas.

Driving 80 mph I see the sign “5 miles ahead” and panic is setting in.  I’m starting to talk to myself.

It has never taken longer to go 5 miles.

Mind you, I’m dressed in camo pants and a black sweatshirt, because this 51-year old woman thinks she’s a fucking ninja.  I don’t know what in the hell is wrong with me, but I can’t act normal.  Between the outfit and the fact that I was talking to myself it would have appeared I was (a) part of a SWAT team or (b) schizophrenic.

In fact, my mind was beginning to shatter.

Four miles, three, two, one, and I’m entering the parking lot but just can’t imagine how I’ll make it into the building.  Of course there are no parking spots available up close.

As it turned out, that was a good thing.

I stand up and immediately began to shit myself.  It’s one of those things where you just can’t believe it’s happening.  You’ve worried about it, considered the possibility in the past.  Maybe even come close, thrown away a pair of underwear once or twice.

But completely evacuated your ass as if you just drank Drano, while standing in a parking lot at Exit 98 in Wall, NJ?  Nope, I didn’t see this in my future.

More shit ended up in the inside of my camo pants, my shoes, and the parking lot than did before my fucking colonoscopy.

It gets better.

I headed for my trunk to get paper towels, thinking I could stem the tide, so to speak.  There was no longer any possibility of entering the rest stop unless I wanted people to point and scream.

But my body had just gotten started with its’ complete and total betrayal of me, the inner me, the part that kept thinking “This can’t be happening.”

Then I looked down and behind.  It appeared a mounted policeman had let his horse shit in this particular parking lot.

The consistency of human shit appears different when it’s not properly contained.

And at the most humiliating moment of my entire life . . .

I looked directly into the eyes of a black man dressed in a maintenance uniform, about 8 cars away.

He had a broom and a big ass dustpan and a bemused, entertained, knowing expression which told me he’d seen the whole show.

I backed out of the parking lot like a blind woman in a Batmobile.  If that man had looked into my dirty sullied soul for another single moment I’d surely have died.

And then I had to drive all the way home with shit in my shoe.

* * * * *

The smell blew my mind, the part that hadn’t already shattered.  It seemed so much worse than usual.  Or maybe we never usually get that close to it?  And baby I was in it, fucking smothered in it.

I pulled into my driveway, lifted my leg, and shit fell onto my floor mat.  It was like a fucking Stephen King novel.

Naked below the waist, I stood in the driveway and hosed myself down.  It snowed here last week and the water was a little icy but maybe shock had already set in.

It was at that point the phone rang and I tried to explain why I couldn’t talk, something about spilling a cup of coffee all over the car.

Yes, I lied.  Cause, you know, people tend to think bad thoughts about you when you shit yourself.

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