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 Pooping SoloPosted 02.17.2004 by The Other David (123)
When I was seventeen, I took flying lessons for a short time, until they became too bloody expensive. I was nearing the stage where I would take the exam for my private pilot's license. This was the third-to-last solo flight before running out of funds.
I was living at the time in the greater Vancouver area. It was a good day for flying -- fraught with clouds leftover from a recent front, which made it more interesting than flying on a bright, sunny day. I had checked out a Cessna Centurion, a four-seater with a retractable undercarriage. I was going on a cross-country flight, a "ferry flight" from point A to point B -- Seattle. After flying for about three quarters of an hour at 4000 feet, my gut began to quake and quiver. (As you PoopReporters know, I have serious IBS.) I thought nothing of it and continued to review my heading and other flight instruments. It was not necessarily a smooth flight, which didn't help my gut. I began to get intestinal cramps and pain, and to feel quite bad. Great! I was stuck in the air in a light general aviation plane with no loo on board. A few minutes passed when I suddenly got that unwelcome urge. I had to shit! Here? No way! But what was I to do? I didn't want to shit in the seat of a $350,000 aircraft. There was a special urinal that pilots have when they need to piss, but nothing on board for pooping. I felt hot as well, which was a bad sign, because it meant there was some real stinky soft liquid stuff trying to push out of my bunghole. I kept going, but it became ever more difficult. My gut was quivering and quaking more violently as time elapsed. This was definitely not good -- some stuff already began to ooze out of my hole and into my shorts. I looked around the cabin, hoping to find a container or something to shit in, but no such luck. I had to really do something -- and fast! No time for dilly-dallying, had to think! C'mon, David, think! There was a small window within the larger window to port that was openable... I began to act more upon instinct than anything else. I secured my nav-charts and other loose items about me, and opened that small window. I had expected a large wind; it was noisy, but there was not enough wind to blow things around as I anticipated. I put the plane on autopilot, undid my seatbelt, stood up as tall as the clearance of the plane would allow, and struggled to work my pants down. I got some document that I felt would be easily replaceable and positioned it on the seat under my bum. I then, finally, let loose my sphincter, and a vile river of soft, tan-like, almost semi-liquid shit shot out of me onto this paper, possibly soiling part of the seat upholstery itself. Whew! It stank! Now, for the next step, which could prove to be quite disastrous and messy. I picked up the paper with the vile stuff on it -- but, being wet, the paper tore, spilling some on the seat. Great. I then scooped up the whole mess by hand, paper and all, and, trying my best to avoid spilling, quickly tossed it out the small window. As it went out, it was blown apart into an unimaginable brown cloud. I know it was technically very illegal to toss anything out of an aircraft in flight. But since I was over the Puget Sound, I doubted it would hit anyone below, except maybe a really unlucky boater. Now, a new problem. My entrails felt much better after dumping that foul load, but my right hand was full of shit, and I had a plane to fly. I really didn't want to get excrement all over the controls. Solution: I took off my shirt and wiped my hand as best as possible. Then I was able to work my shorts and jeans back up. I took her off autopilot. I was about ten minutes away from Seattle's Boeing field. I had radioed my intent to land, set my transponder, and went through my landing procedure checklist. I set my trims for the landing mode, checked my fuel and other engine gauges, entered the landing pattern, and lowered the undercarriage. I was on the downwind leg of this landing manoeuvre when my entrails once again began to quake and quiver. Bad timing. I had to seriously concentrate to get this plane on the ground in one piece. I fought to hold back while I focused on landing. I was on final approach, watching the Automatic Landing System lights line up to show my plane was on the correct glide path. Trying to get the lights to shine the proper magenta, I inadvertently let more foul stuff out into my shorts; but I could always clean myself and buy more shorts -- that would be cheaper and easier than crashing a plane. So I just let loose in the seat as I concentrate fully on the more immediate job at hand. I radioed permission to taxi to the tarmac, made it to the designated parking place, cut the engine, went over the post-landing checklist, and got out of the stinky environment to make a mad dash to the toilet in the Flight Service Station. As it turned out, I paid someone to clean my rented plane, and took care of my clothes as best as possible. I wanted to wait for my bowels to calm down, so I filed a change of flight plan and stayed overnight in Seattle. Fortunately, the return flight was uneventful. Post new comment
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