A Close Call At Band Camp
During my sophomore year of high school, I was in our marching band. We always went to Estes Park for about four days to learn our fall show music and drill. I was stuck rooming with the trumpet, clarinet, flute, and color guard section leaders, along with another girl in the guard.
In the middle of the second night, I woke up early and couldn't figure out why. I thought that I was just the first one up again, but as I looked out the window I realized that was not the case. It was still dark.
When I laid back down I knew right away what was wrong: I had to take a shit if I wanted to go back to sleep. As quietly as I could, I got off the top bunk, grabbed my iPod, and went into the bathroom. At four-thirty in the morning, I knew that I'd have to have something to make this go quickly, so what better to do than get onto Poop Report, which always seems to make me go faster?
After about ten minutes a giant turd plopped into the toilet. I quickly wiped and went to flush it, but it would not die. Before the toilet emptied, the turd stopped dead. Great. The toilet was clogged and there was no plunger to be found. I was too tired to look for someone to unclog this bitch, so I got out of there as quickly and quietly as possible.
I slept like a baby until I was woken up. My first thought was "Oh shit, the toilet didn't fix itself as they sometimes do, and everyone knows it was me." But this was not so. It turns out I had just overslept. I don't know if the toilet was every fixed, or if anyone ever found out I did it. Lucky for me.