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 Waiting For The AgedPosted 01.14.2008 by Sickman (32)
When I went into the shower this morning, I felt a slight need to move the bowels. I had just cleaned my bathroom, so it seemed a shame to filthify my pristine throne; besides, the infamous work bathroom had entertainment (a hand-held Yahtzee), so I opted to wait until I got to work.
I would regret this decision mightily. There was supposed to be three of us at the store this morning. However, upon arriving, I found two messages on the answering machine. The first was my boss, saying he was playing a round of golf. The second was the other worker, saying his car had broken down in Lynbrook, and he couldn't make it in. Before the messages were even finished playing, an early-bird customer walked in. Terrific. By ten o'clock, the last of four customers had left. I had made it through with moderate distress. Just as I was walking to the front door to lock it and hang a "be back in ten minutes" sign, THEY pulled up. The car nearly hit the front curb, and then parked diagonally across the parking lines. Out emerged what I believe to be the only surviving couple from the War Of 1812. They S-L-O-W-L-Y shuffled to the front door -- so slowly that by the time they reached the door their own shadows had passed them. I had no choice but to let them in and hope they would be quick. "DO YOU HAVE VACUUMS?" Oy. Everything I said, I had to repeat. Then, five minutes later, I would have to repeat it again. Despite my ever-increasing pain and cramps, there was one semi-humorous moment, when I demonstrated how the vacuum worked. The man stared blankly, mouth wide open. His wife farted. At this point, I thought to myself, "These people don't need a vacuum, they need a taxidermist!" Well, maybe I'll rush through, and get them on their way... FORTY minutes later, not only were they still there, I think they had forgotten where they were. And, by this point, my body had undergone some dramatic changes. One eye was squinted shut and the other bulged way out. I was biting my upper lip, to the point of nearly drawing blood. One leg was completely wrapped around the other. My stomach became severely distended (even more so that normal), to the point of me worrying about ripping my pants. A klaxon alarm sounded internally as my poor starfish began to creak and groan from the strain. And I was perspiring like Ted Striker trying to land a plane. Then, to my sheer joy, my boss showed up! I was saved! Well, not really. As he walked in, I said "Rich, could you help me here for a bit?" "Give me a minute," he responded. "I have to go to the bathroom." Hate. Anger. Rage. Now I had two problems: first, my sphincter was about to go supernova. And now second, my boss... was... in... the... bathroom. Finally, in a lucid moment, they decided to purchase the cheapest system we had. Which I get no commission for selling. I didn't mind, however, as I was ready to give them a bloody vacuum just to get them out. The fact that this period of torture was for no monetary gain, however, caused my blood pressure to raise further, to about 200 over 310. The walk outside to help them to their car was the worst. My mind was screaming "GO! GO! GO!" but they trudged out so slowly I wanted to put my head through a wall. FINALLY! I ran to the bathroom. Actually, "ran" is probably the wrong term. I pretty much looked like Marty Feldman's Renfield from Young Frankenstein, with my bulging eye and stooped-over shuffle. A small group of children who were walking nearby saw my wretched state, screamed, and ran away. Feeling somewhat guilty despite the extreme state of emergency my body was experiencing, I managed to slur out, "Don't run away! Do you find me repulsive?" I staggered inside like a cramping marathon runner nearing the finish line. The last ten feet, I lost the ability to walk, at least while maintaining anal retentiveness. So I bunny-hopped to the bathroom, threw open the door, and, ignoring the lethal odor left by my delightful boss, threw myself into the bathroom. Time seemed to slow down as I practically ripped off my pants and sat down. I passed what felt like three days' worth of crap in about 0.16 seconds. There was no bowl fart; rather, it was more like an M-80 going off. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling. My relief was short-lived, as the previous action had created a toilet bowl tsunami that completely inundated my right cheek, severely splashed my left cheek, and caused devastating sprinkling to my testicles. As I sat there, unable to move, drenched in sweat, a slight, tongue-hanging-out smile crossing my face. I thought back to my childhood, when my mother would implore me to "make sure you go before we go." Mother's wisdom will be practiced from this day forward. Post new comment
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