First Day Doo-doo Drawers

Illustration by Chad Mitchell

 

Salty is a 31yrold Mortgage Broker who lives in Glen Park, CA and works in San Francisco. He is a master of bar sports, horseshoes and bowling.(The following is derived from a recorded interview.)

I was fifteen and it was the first day of high school. I had just moved to Tampa, FL two years earlier and didn’t have a lot of friends. I was pretty shy, and nervous about going to a high school where I didn’t know anybody.

I didn’t get much sleep the night before and was super stressed. High school was scary, plus I would have to ride the bus for the first time, which also scared me because my high school was really far away.

The next day everything was going grand. I made it through first period, second period and vividly remember sitting in third period English class. The classes were 60 minutes long. 50 minutes into third period I felt a gut wrenching stomach pain. It was killing me.

It didn’t feel like I had to take a shit, it was more like, man, I gotta let out a fart and it’s probably gonna be loud, I can already tell.

I fought it and fought it.

I thought, I have to somehow very quietly squeak out this fart. I’ll look around at everybody, give them the stink face like they did it and then go about listening to the teacher, totally playing it off.

Hurting, I had to let it rip. When I made this motion [shifts to one butt cheek], it was pretty apparent that more than a fart had taken place. I had sharted.

The expression on my face must have said it all. I thought, oh man, I may have just shit my pants a bit, well, time for damage control. Then I started smelling poop.

I sat through the rest of the class wondering if people could smell it. Then I thought, no, no, no, maybe there’s some type of vortex in my pants, the smell is just coming up through my pants and out of my shirt collar and I’m the only one that can smell it. No one else can smell this, just me. I’ll inhale a lot and soak it all up. It’ll be all right, I can make it ten more minutes.

The bell rang. I pretended to finish work so I could be the last one out.  I stood up, stretched and did a butt check. I didn’t see anything on my pants. I thought, good, maybe I’m all right.

I marched to the bathroom, went into a stall and checked my underpants. There was definitely some turdage. On a scale of 1 to 10 it wasn’t that bad. About a 2.5, but it wasn’t a 1 either. There was more than a dab.

I haven’t even gotten to the bad decision yet, everything was still going okay. I figured, all right, I’ll take some toilet paper and wipe this up, throw it in the toilet, pull up my pants and go call my mom. She’ll come get me and I’ll go home. That’s the end of my day. Done.

It seemed pretty sweet actually, dude, I just pooped my pants and I get to go home early. Wish I had known about this a long time ago.

I was also relieved that I hadn’t completely destroyed my pants. The outside of my jeans weren’t brown. I was going to go home. I was in the best of moods.

At this point, a lot of people ask me, “Why did you put your underwear back on if they had poop on them?”

I remember thinking, what if this stomach feeling returns and it happens again? I don’t want it to be on my bare jeans. So I put the dirty underwear back on as a buffer, just in case.

Everything was going great. I pulled my pants up and walked into the principle’s office. An old lady was typing at the reception desk. I said, “Hi, I need to call my mom.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I’m not feeling good. I need to go home,” I said nonchalantly.

“Yea right, you and everybody else. Now go back to class,” she said.

“Yea, but I’m sick.”

“Do you know how many kids have come in here and said they’re sick on the first day of class because they don’t want to stay? Go back to class,” she said.

This completely blindsided me, I had no idea this would happen. I realized high school was a lot different than junior high but this still seemed bizarre. All my life, if I told someone I didn’t feel good they sent me home. No one had ever said, “Nope, you’re going back to class.”

I thought, oh no, okay, focus on what’s happening, what are my options now?

There was a really cute girl (a student) working at a computer, I remember looking at her and thinking, damn that girl is cute. Damn this lady’s a bitch, she just told me I can’t go home.

This is where the bad decision comes in. I was a very soft spoken kid. I never raised my voice. I always said, “yes ma’am, no ma’am.”

The thought crossed my mind of saying, “Look bitch, I will plop some doo-doo covered Garfield underwear on this desk right now. I am sick. There is shit in my underwear and you need to let me go home. I am calling my mom right now.”

I could have done that, I considered being very bold and declaring, “I don’t care if that girls is hot, I don’t care if she tells the whole school, I want to go home, I have shit my pants.”

Instead I said, “Yes ma’am”, smiled at the girl and went to class with shitty underwear. You can only clean so much shit up with toilet paper.

So that’s how that went down.

I was late for fourth period. I walked in, sat down and immediately smelled shit. It wafted into my nose. I’m like, fuck, there’s no way that the people around me can’t smell this, it is pretty prominent, but my nose is closer to my drawers than anyone around me, so maybe they can’t smell it.

I went back and forth in my mind, oh god people smell it, should I look around and act confused? And say, “Dude who smells like shit?”

Maybe they just think someone stepped in dog shit.

I sat through fourth period. Fifth period I made sure to be the first one to class. My stomach was feeling fine at that point. Everyone filed into the room and sat down. There was a very clear area of empty chairs around me. I imagined everyone in the room thinking, Chemistry sucks, oh man that dude smells like shit!

I became super paranoid. I started sweating and freaking out, which probably upset my stomach.

I only knew one guy in the whole school and ran into him in the hallway between fifth and sixth period. He didn’t really like me, but we were the only two people from our junior high attending this high school so he said hi. I was horrified and thought, if this guy smells shit that’s the end of it. I gave a very brief, “What’s up?” Followed by, “Gotta go!”

Nothing spectacular happened in sixth period. The bell rang. I ran to the bus and was the first on.  Everyone filed in, it was a packed bus but no one sat next to me. Maybe they smelled shit; maybe they thought I was a dork. I have no idea, but it worked out in my favor.

Right when the bus started driving, I got the worst stomach pains. I thought, oh, this is not good, this bus driver is not going to pull over, I am stuck and mine is one of the last stops.

I knew I wouldn’t be squeaking out a fart. This was something I had to hold in and hope I made it home.

I fought it for so fucken long. The beast was rattling the chains; it was getting nasty in there. I put up a good hard fight for twelve rounds and then it went to decision. I was holding back a waterfall of shit. It got to the point where I thought, ahhh, I just gotta shit.

I let go. It was an eruption. It was a silent shit storm. It felt great. After such a long fight, I was like, oh god man, thank god.

The bus seat was covered in shit. I was horrified. I reached in my book bag, grabbed a couple of folders, sat up and plopped them down trying to cover it up. But it just spread out even more when I sat back down. I think some fell on the floor.

It was a disaster. If somebody sat next to me, he’d be sitting in my shit. I tried to sprawl out and just act like an asshole that wanted his own seat.

My stomach didn’t torture me for the rest of the ride home. The bus had started with about thirty riders. When it reached my stop half remained. I didn’t want to walk off the bus with brown pants. I kept riding.

The smell was horrendous. Earlier I figured I could play it off like I’d stepped on a dog turd; but this was the scent of human feces. No one said a word.

How could they not know it was the guy sitting by himself? Either no one noticed or they pretended not to. But the odor was undeniable, plus I was sitting around the middle of the bus so everyone in the back must have received a good whiff.

The bus continued dropping people off. We’d driven so far I didn’t know where the fuck we were. Finally, only three of us were left and the bus driver said, “Where you kids live at?”

The other two kids described where they lived. He asked me, “Where you going buddy?”

I mumbled something and said, “I’m going the same place as him.”

He dropped the first kid off, then second kid off, then he was like, “I thought you were going with him.”

“Nah, I’m just going a little bit further,” I said.

“Where? What house is yours?” He said.

“That one right there that’s me.”

He pulled over. I left my folders on the seat and walked to the front of the bus. When I got there I turned towards him and said, “I have a question.” I backed down the stairs and out of the bus saying, “Is this like, uh, the usual route? Okay yeah um, well, hey, it was nice meeting you.”

Once outside the bus, I quickly turned and walked away.

I was easily a mile and a half from home. No one had cell phones in those days, I couldn’t just call my mom. I was sporting some extra shitty pants. They were Jincos to be exact, which may be more embarrassing than crapping in them. I started to run. I just wanted to sprint as fast as I could.

When I had stood up on the bus I felt poo around the back of my knee.  Running shook it down onto my ankles; it was dropping from the bottom of my Jincos.

I ran and ran. I even passed some kids that had been dropped off earlier. I didn’t fucken care. I passed them.

Jogging with diarrhea is not wise. It’s hard to stay puckered up. The urge returned, which made me run faster, which made it impossible to hold it back. I started shitting again, full force, just shitting, and running, and shitting. Poo was blatantly falling from the bottom of my jeans, covering my shoes. I left a trail a good mile long.

I no longer cared. It was gross.

I reached home and my mom was standing outside because I was late.

“How was your first day?” She said.

“Whatever mom, screw you!” I said then hurried to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I wasn’t done! Apparently, I could have crapped for hours.

The bathroom was a bad scene.

I took a shower. My mom kept knocking on the door asking, “Are you okay?”

I exited the bathroom silent. I let the visuals and smell do the talking.

I thought for sure she’d throw my pants in the trash but somehow they were clean later that night. I never asked how she did it. I don’t think I ever wore them again, too many bad memories. Plus, I had plenty of Jincos.

 

WHAT DID YOU EAT THE NIGHT BEFORE?

I can’t remember. It could have been 32 extra hot chicken wings or something super gnarly like a bowl of jalapenos, but nothing really jogs my memory. I’m just gonna go ahead and say it was your basic pre first day of school meal.

YOU GOT AWAY WITH THIS? YOU WEREN’T LABELED “SALTY SHITTY PANTS”?

My reputation was unscathed. Somehow I was not known as the shitty pants guy. I was expecting it and maybe in some circles I was. I don’t know. If I was, I never heard about it. Nobody picked on me for it.

I was afraid to ride the bus the next day. I was scared the bus driver would say, “Hey man you shit on the bus, that’s not cool, I had to clean that up.” But he didn’t say anything.

WHAT WAS YOUR BAD CHOICE?

Not standing up to that lady.

I wish I would have dropped my pants, ripped my soiled underwear off and slapped them on her desk.

It was traumatic. For several years every time my stomach would make the slightest noise, I’d be like, oh fuck this is not happening again!

I am still not one with my guts. We’re not like we used to be. That’s the biggest part.

If I’d just gone home, I wouldn’t have been so mad at my bowels. After the bus incident it was like, listen bowels, you did a lot of people wrong with this one. You did me wrong, you did whoever had to clean that bus up wrong and you did my mom wrong.

SO YOU LITERALLY SHOULD HAVE TRUSTED YOUR GUT?

Yeah, my gut feeling at that point was to say, “Look lady, you don’t understand, I’ve got proof, I have nasal proof if you want to get close enough to me, just take a big whiff, I will prove to you I am sick.”

But god that cute girl, fuck her, l shouldn’t have paid any attention to her.

SO THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED, YOU DIDN’T WANT TO SAY YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS IN FRONT OF THE CUTE GIRL?

Yeah, of course.

MAYBE IT’S GOOD THAT YOU DIDN’T, SHE MIGHT HAVE TOLD EVERYONE…

Haha yea, maybe this is all for not. I would’ve been Shitty Pants Guy and maybe not saying anything was the best decision of my life.

Although, if I’d spoken up I think I would have been a little more coy about it.

DID YOU LEARN ANYTHING FROM THIS EXPERIENCE?

I guess if I learned anything, it’s that this was going to happen sooner or later. I have definitely been in a lot of situations were I get shy, nervous and stressed, and my bowels don’t like it.

If I’m at a job interview and I feel like I gotta fart, I excuse myself for a moment. I don’t think, maybe I can just squeeze out a fart. I’m 0 for 1 in that game.

If you think you can just squeeze out a fart, be careful. Sometimes you can’t just go change your underwear.

COOL MAN, GOOD SHIT.

Haha.

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One Response to First Day Doo-doo Drawers

  1. Matt says:

    I’m in tears right now.

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