LeeAnn says:

Certain foods do bad, bad things to my body, so I avoid them like the plague. Except for one: pork. I can resist it in most forms, but in the form of a chili verde burrito, pork exerts a strange power over me, and I must have it. I went to dinner with my mother-in-law tonight at a restaurant 30 miles from my home. I ate a chili verde burrito. I knew what it would do to me, but figured I had a couple of hours. I was so very wrong.

Ten miles from home, my bowels twisted into an agonizing knot. I decided to risk letting some gas out, but changed my mind when I felt the unmistakable sensation of a dam waiting to burst. I flew off the nearest freeway exit, and made a beeline for a gas station.

I grabbed my not-yet-potty-trained two year old and raced into the store. Seeing the look on my face, the clerk said, "restrooms are outside." I ran around the side of the building, trying now to hold back tears of pain as well as the flood building within. I yanked open the bathroom door, and a guy is standing there, talking on his cell phone. Not using the facilities, just chatting. I smiled my cutest smile, and said, "could I get in here please?"

He barely even looked at me as he pulled the door shut.

I was stunned. I stood there for a second, utterly unable to think past the torture I was enduring. I realized that the guy could be planning to stay for awhile, and I was not going to last more than a few minutes -- maybe even seconds -- at this point.

I ran back into the store, released the cute smile again and said to the clerk, "there's a guy in the bathroom and he won't let me in." I pointed to the angelic-looking toddler in my arms and lied, "She's just been trained... I don't want her to have an accident. Isn't there an employee bathroom she could use?"

Thankfully, the man was moved by my child's (cough) plight, and agreed to let me into the employee bathroom. At this point, time was so critical, that when the guy's back was to me, I slipped my hand under my shirt and unbuckled my belt. Every second counts at a time like this.

I made it, barely. Thank goodness I had my daughter with me!

Dakota says:

LeeAnn's thread reminded me of a brush I had with Poop Nazism. On a recent Sunday morning I went for an early jog as usual. It was real cold and I guess my T-shirt and running shorts were inadequate. After about an hour of jogging, I could feel the urge to take a shit coming on.

I don't know about other joggers, but in my case jogging always makes me want to shit. I'd tried to dump before leaving my apartment, but only managed to push out a couple of hard nuggets. I could tell by the feeling in my stomach now, however, that my colon was ready for the main act.

Fortunately, as you know, my usual jogging route takes me through a park with a restroom. It's not the greatest place to use but it sure is a lifesaver when you've got a big shit on board.

When I approached the restroom I got a sinking feeling: there was a city pick-up parked right outside. My feeling of dread was confirmed when I got to the restroom entrance. There was one of those yellow signs stating, "This restroom is closed temporarily for cleaning."

I considered going behind a bush to take a dump, but I did not have any wiping materials on me, and there were other joggers around, including chicks. So I walked into the restroom, where a young Latino dude was mopping the floor. I said, "How ya doing?" but got a real unfriendly scowl in return.

I explained to him that I needed to take a dump real bad and asked if I could use the restroom. He said: "Hey dude, didn't you see the sign? This restroom is fucking closed. You can come back in about 30 minutes."

I don't like to beg, but I told him that if he didn't let me go, I'd shit my pants and he'd be responsible. Eventually, with great reluctance, he relented.

I quickly moved into the doorless stall, dropped my pants and sat down on the crapper. It had just been cleaned -- and it was so clean that it was a shitter's paradise! I unloaded about five large logs and a lot of gas. It sounded like machine gun fire.

At that point the custodian was mopping the floor in the narrow hallway outside my stall. I guess he couldn't have missed that I needed to shit real bad, and he must have regretted his earlier surliness. He asked if I had enough toilet paper because he hadn't got around to replacing the roll yet. There were just a couple of sheets left, so he said he would get me a new roll from the storeroom.

He came back and replaced the roll on the dispenser while I waited on the crapper. After I'd wiped my butt I went to wash my hands. He apologized for being so mean about the whole business, but said he couldn't get his job done if folks came in to use the restroom while he was cleaning. I thanked him profusely for making an exception in my case and we ended on good terms. So I guess he was a repentant or remorseful Poop Nazi!