Raise The Bar, Drop Your Pants

My first apartment was a second story walk up. I lived there for about 5 years and had rotating roommates the entire time. Those years were spectacular, maybe even better. We were young, we were charming, and we had unlimited alcohol. 

This was float the river with a cooler of beer, then put a shirt on and close out Shotze’s days. The average river float was 2 cases minimum. 

Oh Shotze’s, I miss that place. I’d meet up with Stacey and Sarah with my current roommate and play ntn trivia all afternoon. Stacey lived below me at the apartment as long as I lived upstairs. We hung out a bit, and her bosses played trivia with us. Best weekdays ever. 

Now as much as I love the trivia and social camaraderie we got there, I still have a thing about pooping in public restrooms. I just can’t do it, especially in a bar. We lived fairly close, (a five minute drive at the time) so I’d leave in the emergency moments.  

One particular day I was doing extremely well at the trivia. When you log into the system it recognizes which bar you’re at and it’ll highlight the best bars online at the end of each trivia set. We were tops in about 5 or 6 in a row. I had ate the lunch special, which probably meant they added bacon to something about to go bad. I washed that down with a butt load of beer. Every fart was a gamble, but we were bound to be the smartest bar this day. 

The next topic was movie trivia and we had three generations of movie geeks playing at the bar. We shared answers to get the best overall score.  The first round of five questions go by and we nailed it. I excuse myself for a cigarette (yes I smoked, gross) about 3 drags in the diuretic symptoms started rearing its ugly head. Toss the butt, order another beer and squeeze through round two. 

Second round was made for me! There was a question on Red Dawn, another on The Natural, and the fifth question was asking who played Mr. Pink in Resevoir Dogs. I owned it. High fives around the bar because every one scored fast and therefore high scores. 

Maybe another beer will distract my immediate bowel situation. 

We are on the verge of excellence, there is a tangible feeling of excitement. People not invested in the game are paying attention, the bartenders are booting up extra machines, the barstool is two inches up my butt, I can’t leave in this moment of glory. 

The third round is a blur, I don’t second guess any answer yelled out loud. Drops of sweat are rolling off my temple, trickling down my chin, and dripping onto my knee that’s bouncing up and down off the foot rest at about 200 rpm. I let Jeremy know that I’m heading home the second we see the rankings. I’ve paid the tab. Tipped well, and have one foot out the door. 

That wasn’t gas. 

Yo time to go!

I race home, we see a train loading and take the side street just in time to avoid that backup. Down track I’m doing about twice the speed limit at the railroad crossing and my Chevy Astro gets airborne. We slide through the rest of the route like greased lightning. Before the van is completely stopped, I throw the gear shifter into park. We bounced like we were in an Ice Cube video until she finally quit rolling. 

I knew at this point that I would not make it to the toilet. There were doors to unlock, and stairs, and simply just no. Not gonna happen. So instead, I run to the side yard, drop trou and let loose. 

Ya know when you’re on that “I’m 22 and drink more beer than water diet” and therefore your #2 looks more like #1? Well that’s where I’m at right in this moment. The relief is hitting home with me. I just let out that audible “Aaaaahhggg”

That’s about the time I look down. We don’t do this kind of thing on a regular basis (y’know: pooping outdoors). There are rules and guidelines everyone should follow, the problem is, nobody teaches these fundamentals. For instance, always get your waist band as close to your ankles as you can. Second, lean back a bit. Because if you fail to do either of these…

My jeans were resting about thigh high, I was working on a tight deadline. The next issue was there was zero lean back. In the woods you could grab a branch, or a stump, or your buddies 33″ Mickie Thompson tire and sit at a 90 degree angle. Well I didn’t. Instead, my Levi’s created a perfect catch basin for the most watery, splashiest diarrhea in recorded history, I mean I filled them up!

Lucky for me, Jeremy was still in the van watching my misfortune from a safe distance. I yelled “Quit pointing and get out and unlock the door, no not the van, THE HOUSE! Yes it’s in my pants now c’mon!!!!” 

The only guy I know who can laugh as loud as me is Jeremy. Which is awesome when we are watching Drop Dead Gorgeous, not so much when you’re knee deep in your own feces at 4:00 in the afternoon. A few neighbors got to see the naked shitty leprechaun bounce up the stairs to his shower that day. 

We may have been the best trivia group ever that day though, totally worth it. 

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