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 The Company PicnicPosted 12.12.2005 by poo_poo_poodio (121)
When I was a teenager my father was totally involved with climbing the corporate ladder. He had clawed his way into middle management and was always looking for the next promotion. The firm my dad worked for threw an annual company picnic each summer. This was always eagerly anticipated by us kids. It never failed to be a lot of fun and there was always plenty of food and games. I have nine brothers and sisters, so this was usually a welcome break for my mother.
It was a beautiful summer day -- the kind of day you would order up for your outdoor summer event, if only you could. The day started normally. We arrived, as always, around nine AM, just as pancakes and sausages were being served for breakfast. I helped myself to a heaping plate of both. They were so good that I had two more servings. By now it was ten and I was stuffed. Soon a volleyball game started. Volleyball being my favorite sport, I joined in vigorously. We played for a couple of hours, after which the smell of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs started to waft in the air. I guess my breakfast had settled by then so I had two hamburgers and a hot dog. I also had a helping of potato salad and a bunch of potato chips, and I washed all it down with about forty ounces of root beer. Next was the softball game. I was feeling pretty stuffed by then, but I never missed the softball game. We had such a good time playing ball that, despite the fact I had already eaten two days worth of food, I had worked up a mid-afternoon appetite for a giant funnel cake. I also added some cotton candy and a box of caramel corn. This is where I had a lapse in judgment. The park we were in had a beautiful nature trail that made an approximately three-mile loop. There was a hike starting up and I joined in. All went well for the first mile, but as soon as we got out about as far as we could from any plumbing fixtures, I started to feel a massive rumbling in my stomach. Peristalsis was beginning to set in. I began to panic because I knew the impending doom would not wait another mile. We continued walking. I started to feel things move. My head was swirling. Maybe I could stave off the inevitable for another fifteen minutes? I released some gas -- the smelliest, most putrid gas I have ever encountered. It didn't smell anything like one of mine. An unfortunate hiker nearby commented that there must be a swamp in the area. Another swore she had heard a moose in the woods. I felt somewhat better; but, alas, this feeling was merely temporary. I didn't want to make a scene around my dad's co-workers and their families, but by now I was pinching my butt cheeks together so hard that I was walking like Frankenstein. I released some more gas ever so gingerly, hoping that gas was all that was being released. Again a foul stench arose. Someone asked me if I was okay. My fears were being realized -- I was beginning to attract attention with my duck walk. I smiled and said, "I just got a cramp in my leg." That seemed to suffice for a moment. By then I was in full panic mode. What should I do? Should I divert myself to the woods and find a hollow log to squat on? My eyes were darting back and forth. There didn't seem to by anything suitable nearby that would afford me the privacy required. My only hope was to make it back to the park. I began to jog. As you can imagine, I looked like a walrus on crack trying to run with my butt cheeks clenched to nine hundred pounds per square inch. But by now I didn't care -- caring was a luxury I could no longer afford. I passed everyone. The pack of hikers behind me was asking me if I was okay. I ignored them and kept focused on my goal, their voices beginning to fade as I increased my lead on the pack. And then, as I reached the edge of the woods, I saw it. The infamous brick shit house. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen -- and it was only a couple hundred yards way. At this point there were three players in this drama: me, my intestines, and the outhouse. I was getting closer; would I make it? Nearing the building, I discovered the door was not on the side of the building on which I was. I ran around to the left. That was the wrong choice -- the door to the ladies' room was on the right side. It doesn't seem like it should be a big deal, but in this case having to run all the way around the building was huge. Finally I found the door and I yanked it open with all my might. There before me was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen: a public toilet. Unfortunately my intestines were also rejoicing, and they got a little overexcited. Here I was, a mere six feet from sweet ecstasy, and the unthinkable happened. My bowels released before I could get my shorts down. Suddenly my shorts, my underwear, my tennis shoes, my socks, and the outhouse floor were covered with a massive tidal wave of gooey poo. I didn't know what to do. I locked the door and began to think. I was covered in poo and so was almost everything in the bathroom. My eyes began to well up in tears -- when there was a knock on the door. Oh great, I thought to myself. If this situation could be any worse, it's about to get there. "Out of order," I yelled, not knowing what else to say. There was another knock on the door. "Sweetie, are you okay? Do you need any help?" Miracle of miracles, it was my mother! "Mom, I had an accident," I responded. "Open the door and let me in and we'll discuss it," came her calm, reassuring reply. "Trust me, Mom," I sobbed, "you do not want to come in here." "I'm your mother. I understand." Ashamed, I opened the door, and my mother stepped in. Holding back a gag, she sized up the situation. "Okay, here's what we do. We've got to clean this mess up. Are you okay?" By now my intestines were fine, but my ego had taken a severe hit. "Yes," I managed to respond. She began washing my clothes in the sink -- this outhouse had plenty of hot water and soap -- and I began cleaning up the bathroom. Fortunately there was a mop and bucket in there, and some disinfectant handy, so cleanup of the room went pretty quickly. There I was, with only my bra on, cleaning a public restroom, while Mother managed to clean my clothes -- fairly well, for battle conditions. Another stroke of luck -- there were two hot air dryers. We began drying the clothes. Within twenty-five minutes, I was ready to emerge from the bathroom none the worse for wear. My mother earned eligibility for sainthood that day. The next year my dad changed jobs, so that was last company picnic I ever attended. Today, whenever someone mentions a company picnic, Mom and I look at each other and exchange a knowing glance. Post new comment
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