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 A Waste Of ChicagoPosted 03.09.2006 by Shithead (10)
The humid summer air surrounded my sun-parched face as I walked around the 2005 Taste of Chicago. For those who haven't had a chance to attend, The Taste, as it's known, is a week long festival of food, beer, and fun in downtown Chicago the week before the 4th of July. I was visiting the Windy City for business, and I happened to have an afternoon off, so I found myself enjoying a cold beer as the sun dropped behind the Chicago skyline. A female friend was with me that night. She waited while I visited one of the hundreds of thunder-mugs located on the festival grounds. I certainly picked the most disgusting of the bunch -- eating a bunch of different foods can really tear a human up, and someone had certainly torn up this bathroom. Chunky diarrhea the color of chocolate milk covered the back of the toilet and the seat. Thankfully I was just taking a leak; little did I know that goo would be a precursor of things to come.
The next evening a guy friend of mine met me for dinner. We walked along the Magnificent Mile and located a friendly Italian restaurant with outdoor seating. I am a huge fan of lasagna and make it a point to try Italian restaurants while I'm on business, since lasagna isn't cheap. After eating the better half of a huge portion, washed down by two Miller Lite tall boys, we resumed our walk towards Lake Michigan. We walked for an hour or so, and then sat down and listened to a band playing at Lake Michigan. A lake cruise seemed like a worthy cause for such a beautiful night, so after drinking a couple more beers, we boarded a boat for a scenic evening tour of the Chicago skyline. One thing I had not counted on was the "motion of the ocean" doing some twists on my stomach. About this time, now on my third beer here on the boat, the lasagna came back to hurt in a magnificent way. I went below deck to perform recon on the shitters. They looked safe -- but my beer had just run out, so I instead headed topside for a refill. After disembarking, the pains in my stomach warned of a soon-to-arrive shitting event. By this time it was almost eleven PM; the pier was deserted. Sneaking though a "Future McDonalds" that I'm not even sure was open, I was pleased to arrive at the bathroom and to discover it empty. Choosing the handicapped stall at the end (I like how the toilet sits up higher), I was in a race against time before my ass let loose a torrent of partially-digested food. I barely had time to get my pants off and sit down before a huge loaf split my cheeks. This wasn't just any loaf -- it was the smelliest, longest loaf I've seen in a while. The sumbitch went so far down the hole it busted in two. Relieved that I had survived, I quickly flushed the beast down, washed up, and left before the toxic smell overcame me. I thought the worst was behind me. Arriving back at my hotel, I had yet a couple more beers at the bar across the street before staggering up to bed about two AM. I woke up the following morning with severe stomach cramps. I raced to my room's bathroom, which I immediately desecrated with an ass explosion. I barely had time to flush before the puking began. I heaved so much I thought my eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets. Following this first spell of vomit, my ass again released a form of toxic liquid into the poor porcelain throne. (I still haven't decided which was worse, but I'd be inclined to believe it was the puking.) I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had desecrated the crapper so bad, since the hotel seemed fairly new. The worst part was the realization that I wasn't going to be able to work that day. I immediately chastised myself for eating and drinking too much; but I strongly believe it was a combination of the two, not either one alone. Staggering into the shower, I nevertheless cleaned up and headed for the office. My plan was simple: stop by Walgreens, buy some Pepto Bismol, and try to get through the day of work without anything too bad happening -- I was visiting in this office and was expected to do work, so I couldn't be spending the whole day on the john. Staying at the hotel all day wasn't going to cut it either, since I only had one week to complete this project. On the way to the office, I stopped at Walgreens. I was close to puking on the counter by the time my purchase of twenty-four-count Soothe tablets was finalized. My doubts about the day began to grow as I rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. I barely made it off the elevator without shitting in my pants. I made a quick beeline for the bathroom, which, thankfully, was in the hallway. I met one of my temporary coworkers coming out as I was going in. He just nodded and said hello. I raced for the back stall, undid my britches, and unleashed another stool-filling toxic brew. As the smell overcame me, I felt that resistance was futile. There was going to be no work today. And then I realized it was already ten AM -- I was supposed to report to the workstation by nine. Feeling slightly irresponsible, I cleaned up again, admiring my toxic brew of pure tomato-red diarrhea. It must have been the lasagna, I told myself. I made it to my desk five minutes later. I apologized to the boss. All he could say was, "It happens." If only he knew "it" was "shit." Two Pepto tablets later, I was back in business. I didn't have any other problems that day, nor the rest of the week for that matter. Maybe because I avoided beer and anything with tomatoes. Which means this experience only energized me to make a trip back to the Windy City as soon as possible -- there are still a couple bars I didn't get to check out yet. Post new comment
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