I hated high school. I wasn't popular or a jock, but I wasn't a nerd or a pointdexter; I sorta ended up being a burnout. But I didn't do a lot of drugs back then, so I was a Class B burnout -- a burnout, but not in an interesting way. Between that and my unfortunate class scheduling, I spent a lot of my time in school alone.
In 11th Grade, I was lucky enough to get a study hall for my last period of the day. So instead of waiting until 3:00 for the bus to take me home, I could leave at 2:10 and walk the two-and-a-half miles home.
It was sort of a stupid thing to do, especially in the rain or snow, since I wouldn't get home until nearly 3:00 anyway. But I did it because I had to go home and take a shit. I'm a Shameful Shitter now, but it can't compare to how Shameful I was back in high school.
There was no way I would ever shit at school. I was so Shameful, I remember going to camp in 6th grade, from Monday morning to Friday night, and I swear I didn't shit the whole time; I suffered for days until I got home.
I really wasn't a morning shitter back then, either, so my loads would build up all day. Every afternoon I counted the minutes until 2:10 so I could go home and unload. Thinking back, it was so ridiculous. I remember the locker room after gym class, where the jocks and popular kids would walk around naked, fart at each other, and sit on the toilet and shamelessly let loose in front of everyone. Why didn't it bother them to shit in front of others? Was I a freak?
One cold, gray November afternoon, I was waiting for my release from the dungeon, holding what felt like a 10-pound ham in my gut. 2:10 finally came and I started my walk home. But not even five minutes after leaving school, my water broke -- my baby ham was moving.
I actually considered going back to school and suffering a public poop. But I kept walking. Every step intensified the pain. I remember trying to run, but that hurt worse -- the hamloaf bounced around my belly like a thorn-covered basketball. I kept moving, trying not the think about the pain, but my mind was racing and nightmares of releasing a warm load in my pants were moving closer to reality.
But I was a young man with a strong bung, so I held tough. If I tried this today, it might be a different story. I got to my street, only three minutes from my beloved porcelain friend. I had my house key in hand, ready for action. I ran the last 500 feet like Bo Derek in 10 -- slow motion, tears in my eyes, bits of me jiggling rhythmically (only not in the way she jiggled). I entered my house, ran to my throne, ripped down my pants and squeezed out my overdue baby.
The Buddhists achieve enlightenment through pain and sacrifice; shrouded in the warm stench of the birth and death of my child, I too reached Nirvana -- and in true clarity, I understood the inherent fallacy of Shamefulness. But like most of what I learned in high school, this lesson was soon forgotten; the next day at 2:10, it was another race against time.
-- Doniker
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