First, a little background on my partner. He is a big, burly guy, but somewhat of a Shameful Shitter. He locks the bathroom door when we're home alone for fear that I'll come in and talk to him. I, on the other hand, never shut the bathroom door and love to carry on a conversation while I'm on the crapper. Once, trying to be nice, I took a crap and didn't flush because he was in the shower. We left a few minutes later for two weeks in Europe -- the stench when we got home is a whole different story!
My partner also comes from a family in which all the males have very sensitive stomachs. It's not unusual for his father or brother to get up in the middle of a meal and rush to the bathroom to take a crap. He's not quite that bad, but when he's got to go, he's GOT TO GO!
On a trip to Maui, we drove across the island from were we were staying to see the Old Lahaina Luau. It's a pretty big deal -- I think they've even had a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. We ate lots of greasy pork and tossed back plenty of complimentary tropical cocktails while watching the show. Then my better half decided to have a strong cup of Kona coffee to top it all off and rev him up for the long drive back to the condo.
As we were walking to the rental car, he suddenly said, "I need to go to Burger King," just as we happened to be passing that fast food establishment. He hurried toward the door. Not realizing what was going on, I walked in after him, amazed that he wanted something else to eat after that major feed. I said, "You can't possibly still be hungry."
To which he replied -- always the discrete southern gentleman -- "No, I have to GO in Burger King!"
Realizing what was up, I trailed him into the burger place. Halfway across the dining room, he suddenly dropped into a booth. I was tired and complained about him sitting down and asked why he didn't just go to the bathroom. He replied that it was too late.
Just then, I noticed a trail of brown dots following him to the booth... and the beginnings of some serious stink. Yikes -- he'd crapped his pants! I asked what he planned to do and he said he didn't know. I told him he had to go to the bathroom and try to salvage as much as he could. I'd go for the car and, when I got to the door near the bathrooms, I'd honk the horn a lot so he'd know to make a run for it.
He shuffled off to the shitter, kind of grasping the seat of his shorts with one hand but still leaving a poop trail on the floor. Note to people with a history of bowel problems: don't go commando or wear boxers (as he had) -- there's nothing to hold in the evidence if you have a problem. Briefs are definitely the way to go.
Being the thoughtful guy that I am, I made a run for the car. And in an effort to prevent further clean-up and nosy questions from the car rental company, I put the brand new sweatshirt I was wearing on the passenger seat. When I got to the side entrance of the Burger King, I blasted the horn and my partner came running for the car like he was fleeing a bank robbery. No doubt the crew at BK would have come after him with guns blazing if they had known what he'd just done to their floor and bathroom!
It was a very cool night, but we rode across the island with all of the windows down and the air conditioner on full blast. The stench was incredible.
Luckily we'd made the wise investment of renting a condo with a washer and dryer, so we could clean up his clothes and my new sweatshirt while he took a long hot shower. Not being grossed out by something that had once touched poop (and was now clean), I wore the sweatshirt for the rest of the trip. He turned kind of green every time I put it on.
-- Volcanic Eruption