I have a story I want to submit. I only ask that you do not publish my email address or my name, as sharing this story could potentially get me fired. I am changing some critical details of the story so as to protect the innocent, but still -- please leave my name out of it so as to protect me from any repercussions.
Let me preface the story by saying that if someone were to tell me the story, I wouldn't believe it. But every word (save for a few details) is completely true.
I work in a call center for a wireless phone company. It's basically a cubicle farm: line after line of cubicles and phones, each one indistinguishable from the next. Due to the nature of our business, we have a very strict attendance policy. You have to be there five minutes early and everyone has to take his or her break as scheduled. You are not allowed to be off the phone other than during your break. They always tell us the calls will be there whether we are or not. I know this sounds like boring work nonsense, but these rules play a very important part in my story.
You see, due to the strict attendance policy, Saturday mornings are always hilarious. People who spent Friday night out at the club will come in wearing what they wore out the night before. This is where Christine was about three weeks ago, stumbling in, hung over, wearing her ass-shaking leather pants and her backless silver top.
This girl is not small to begin with, and her pants were about two-and-a-half inches from covering her mammoth derriere. You could see her thong and about the top two inches of her ass crack as she came in, put on her headset, and laid her head on the desk next to mine. She immediately began clutching her stomach and complaining about how she needed to go home. This was typical behavior for Christine on Saturday, so I ignored her and went on talking to my customer about available discounts if he purchased two phones instead of one.
Christine's groaning grew louder as the morning went on. And then, about two hours into the day, it happened. Apparently the Mexican food buffet she finished her night with had had an adverse reaction with the copious amounts of alcohol she had drank the night before. She shat herself.
Now, her shitting herself is disgusting enough. But if you could have seen what she was wearing, you would understand that the shit had only one place to go once it escaped her bowels: STRAIGHT UP.
You see, her pants were too tight to let the liquid fecal matter puddle in her underwear and thus save her the embarrassment of everyone seeing. So the shit traveled straight up -- and was split in half by her thong. It came out with such force that it caused a dual shit geyser the likes of which I had never seen.
One half landed on my phone. The other half shot right up to her neck.
Christine reached back with her left hand and felt the liquid, her face already pulled down in a scowl. Then, as if to confirm what was on her hand was indeed shit, she held it to her nose and sniffed.
Needless to say, Christine hung up on her last customer and left for the day.
What disturbed me was the fact that on Monday morning she came back in and sat in the same seat, as if she hadn't defecated on my phone just two days earlier.