Being a resident of the great state of New Jersey, I am most certainly used to battling the demons within my bowels after a night of heavy drinking and greasy food consumption. But this night was one for the record books. Like many stories on this site, it involves drinking and fast food. But it involves so much more as well. Read on...
A few friends and myself had traveled the two hours to Atlantic City, where we had reserved a hotel room at the brand new Borgata Hotel and Casino. Since I was not driving, the festivities began at our local watering hole several hours prior to the trip. Of course, my favorite adult beverage -- bourbon whiskey -- was liberally consumed. Before we hopped on the Parkway for the trip, we decided it would be a good idea to swing by Taco Bell. Pretty drunk, I chowed down four beef-and-bean burritos in the parking lot.
In retrospect, this was a bad idea.
We got to the hotel, checked into our room, and immediately went to the casino floor for some blackjack. For once, I was actually doing pretty well, even though I was again consuming large amounts of whiskey while gambling.
And then it hit me. Something was afoul in my intestines. It was not happy, and it demanded immediate release. I tried ignoring it for a few minutes, and it subsided. And then it came back. Nature was screaming, and would not be ignored.
I stood up and it hit me even harder. I shoveled my chips into my pocket while squeezing my cheeks together and did the bunny hop to the nearest men's room. I got into a stall and dropped my pants while simultaneously squatting. Unfortunately, quite a bit of the nastiest poo my body had ever released got all over my boxers.
Ten minutes later, it was over. I looked at my soiled undergarments and realized that it was best to abandon them next to the toilet. I threw them to the side, used half a roll of toilet paper to clean up, and walked back to the blackjack table.
When I sat down, it looked like my chip stack was significantly smaller than what I had left the table with. I chalked it up to being intoxicated and not paying attention, and I continued to play. I ended up winning about $150. Not bad. On my way back to the room, I thought I saw several of the employees pointing at me and suppressing giggles with their hands. Again, I assumed it was the whiskey. I went to my room and passed out.
The next morning, our designated driver was in much worse shape than I was, so I drove. Halfway home, I was pulled over by a state trooper. For the life of me, I couldn't find my license. He forgave the speeding, but ticketed me for failure to produce a driver's license. There went my winnings.
A week and a half later, a random package arrived in the mail. It was from the Borgata. Inside the package was my driver's license, a cashiers check for $93.12 -- the balance of the money I had lost, minus shipping costs -- and, no joke, a brand new pair of boxers.
So lets recap. Apparently, when I slipped down my pants in the bathroom, my driver's license (which had been removed from my wallet when I was carded at the blackjack table) and $100.00 in chips had fallen out of my pocket. I likely then threw my boxers right on top of the chips and my license. So a member of the Borgata staff must have found all of this and relayed this story to other members of the staff.
I doubt I will ever summon the courage to return to the Borgata. But I commend them for their service.
