I thought I should probably not ever tell anyone about this traumatic experience. It's buried in my memory; and whenever it comes to mind, I try to convince myself that it did not really happen.

I'd decided to take a job as a truck driver. I had given driving a try a few years ago and my CDL was still valid. I went to work for a subcontractor that moved freight for Federal Express. It was a fairly decent job, and I was glad to have it because, though there is a shortage of drivers these days, it's still sometimes hard to get hired without recent driving experience. The outfit that hired me wasn't too concerned about my time away from the wheel. And, working for a small company, there was a lot less bullshit to put up with.

The only drawback was that this was a team-driving job, and I would have to work and live out of a truck with a total stranger. Even so, I was lucky because the guy I teamed up with wasn't such a bad fellow. And he said he would be willing to help me refresh my skills and act unofficially as a re-trainer.

Our home base was Phoenix. We had made it all the way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, on our first time out together. After being out on the road for about nine days, we got a load back towards home by way of Mira Loma, California.

We were driving eight-to-ten hour shifts. The maximum legal driving shift is eleven hours. Frankly, driving for over six hours was difficult for me since I hadn't been behind the wheel for several years. But I was doing my best to stay focused and stay awake and do my share.

I have to admit that it was a strain. The tedium of driving for long periods was the worst part of the job. I didn't realize how much of a strain until later on this day.

In New Mexico, I took over and steeled myself for the long haul back to Mira Loma. As it turned out, it was an eleven-and-a-half hour shift, thirty minutes over the legal limit. But don't tell anybody. I started driving at about three PM and didn't arrive in Mira Loma until after two AM. Along the way, I had a brief argument with my co-driver.

As I said, he wasn't such a bad guy, but we were still getting acquainted and I wasn't used to all his quirks. I felt that he was rushing me unnecessarily at times and putting too much pressure on me to drive long shifts. I was eating lousy, greasy food on the run and cussing him out. In middle of a long drive, pulling doubles, I felt distressed and angry.

It's an odd feeling, moving over long distances when it's necessary to carefully control your speed. The road seems endless; and at night, it feels as if you're traveling through empty space, without visual reference points.

Operating a large truck is no picnic. Traffic regulations are strict and driving in California can be nightmarish since the highway patrol is especially strict there. I had to exercise extreme caution the entire way, paying close attention to maintaining a safe speed and controlling my long descent through the mountains. Nevertheless, I handled the truck well and managed to keep my sanity driving through the night, even though I was concerned when I realized that I would not arrive in Mira Loma within the legal time limit. Because of the argument I had with my co-driver, and because I did not want to appear wimpy, I decided to keep driving and leave my partner undisturbed in the sleeper berth. I was taking a risk. If I had been stopped by the highway patrol, I could have been in big trouble.

Eventually I reached my destination. I pulled into the terminal inspection station, which is standard operating procedure. It was two AM and only a skeleton crew was on duty. I endured this slow procedure, pulling into the bay and awaiting the approval of the man on duty. But when I got out of the truck to point out a few problems with the trailer, I was hit with a subtle feeling that I would I have to visit the men's room as soon as I un-hitched the trailer and parked the cab.

I decided I could wait. It was only going to take me a few more minutes and then I could relax in the locker room and relieve myself.

But as soon as I got back into the truck to move it to where I was supposed to drop the trailer, the urge suddenly intensified in a totally unexpected way. Suddenly I was overcome. In fact, it was so strong an urge that I began to panic. I struggled with the uncontrollable sensation and realized that I was in serious trouble. There I was, in the middle of this terminal, among strangers, with my co-driver in the sleeping berth, about to fill my pants.

And when I positioned the truck at the drop-off point, I climbed down from the cab and heard a voice in my head exclaim, "Oh, go ahead!" And with my head involuntarily cocked upwards as if arching my back, I let go, against my will.

I hurriedly dropped the landing gear, disconnected the trailer from the cab, and climbed back into the truck to park it near the dispatch office. I couldn't believe what had happened. There I was, a full-grown man, with my pants full of shit. I might as well been an infant.

As soon as I had parked and gotten out of the truck, I dropped my pants in the hope that I could clear them of the problem. Since it was two AM, I had the benefit of darkness and few people around. So, right there outside the dispatch office, right next to the truck, I left a large pile of liquefied shit. I then hurried inside, past the dispatcher's desk, to get to the bathroom, where I hoped I would be able to clean up without being detected. I had been there before, so I knew exactly where to go.

To my horror, when I got inside and dropped my pants, I discovered that this had been no ordinary bowel movement. My shorts were totally soiled, front and back. The liquefied feces had engulfed my lower regions like a girdle and my ass and genitals were completely covered with a thick, slimy coating of you-know-what. What a shock to see my penis coated with poop!

I sat on the toilet to allow myself the comfort of finishing off the experience. When I got up, the toilet seat was smeared with it. In a panicked state of mind, I moved to the next stall and fouled that toilet seat as well. Clumps of shit had fallen onto the floor. I was terrified that someone might come into the bathroom and discover me covered in shit. I started to scramble, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation.

I decided to completely remove my pants and shorts and get into the shower. But when I started the water running, I was shocked to discover that shit -- that slimy, oily weird poisonous glop from inside the intestines -- does not wash away so easily. Before I knew it, there was shit splattered all over the shower stall and the floor. I had created a trail of shit globs and despite my best efforts to clean off my clothes, it seemed as if I was just making more of a mess.

Eventually, I was able to rinse my shorts and pants to a point where they were acceptably clean. I put them back on soaking wet and prepared to make a hasty retreat back to the cab for clean clothes.

I was shocked to find small lumps of shit, Hansel and Gretel-like, as I retraced my steps out of the bathroom back to the parking lot. I walked past one guy sitting in the lounge. He took no notice of me. For once I was grateful for the indifference of others.

I regret to say that I was not able to clean up after myself very well in the bathroom. I wanted to eliminate any traces of the trauma I had experienced but I was also concerned that someone might walk in on me. So I did the best I could under the circumstances, and thought that maybe I could return later to finish the job.

As it turned out, I never did get back to clean up, because other drivers started showing up. Rather than explain that I had just soiled my pants, I decided to just stay in the truck and sleep. As I lay there, I realized that this was not going to be easy to explain. I could only hope that no one would connect me with the mess in the bathroom.

For the terror I felt, I was unable to sleep for a while; but eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, I finally got in a few hours shut-eye. I was awakened by a call on my cell phone from the dispatch office. Immediately, I knew that there was going to be some type of showdown.

Unable to avoid the inevitable, I dressed and went to face the music.

When I stood in front of the dispatcher, I was relieved when he asked me a simple question. It was morning by now, and others had arrived for work. A few drivers stood around me, scrutinizing me intently. The dispatcher asked me if I had used the bathroom and told me that someone had left it in an unclean condition. I immediately denied having used it. And, when they asked me if my co-driver had, I said, "No. He's been sleeping."

The dispatcher said that I had been the only one to have arrived during the night.

I shrugged.

I saw my chance and immediately returned to my truck. There was no way they could prove it was me. And I wasn't about to confess.

I kept a cold, clammy silence as I sat in the truck, staring them down through the windshield. From a distance, a few guys looked me over, but no one said a thing.

I was having doubts about the job, and an experience like this made me feel even less confident. My co-driver never found out what happened. He had heard my groans and later asked me if there had been a problem when I arrived, but I gave him no information. And after I was called into the dispatch office, I reported to him that the office crew accused me of leaving the bathroom in a dirty condition, but my partner did not press the issue, either.

The feeling of relief I had when we finally left the terminal is hard to describe. I never wanted to return there. And now that I'm into another line of work, I probably never will. I am sorry to have left that sort of mess behind me; but at the time, the prospect of confessing did not seem like an acceptable option. I've never had kids and never changed a diaper in my life. So dealing with that sort of clean-up was an entirely new experience for me. I had no idea that feces was so difficult to clean. It smears and spreads and lingers... and just won't go away.

The memory won't go away, either.

I've never had another experience like this one. I can only conclude that I was overcome by the stress of eleven hours of driving, bad food, and foul emotions. In the aftermath, something like death, my life slowly rolled before my eyes, and I pondered my condition and ultimate fate. I am grateful to have escaped humiliation, and I wish I could apologize somehow to the others at the terminal -- especially to the person who had to clean up.