When I was 19, I enrolled in a Peace Corp-type program called "Amigos De Las Americas" (ADLA). It was a volunteer-based program designed for young adults focusing on select Latin American countries. Volunteers of ADLA spent one complete summer doing stuff like Community Health, teaching English to locals, instructing kids of the importance of clean teeth, etc.
The country I wanted to go to was Costa Rica, but instead they sent me to Guanajuato, in the central rural mountains of Mexico. Once I got there, I met Rich, my partner for the summer. I am from Colorado, and Rich was from Arizona. Each town or village had two volunteers, so together we worked on our tasks throughout the entire summer.
What does this have to do with poop? Hang on, I am building the suspense.
The town Rich and I lived in had no modern toilets, just latrines (outhouses) -- with the exception of the house in which we stayed. We lived for the summmer with the town mid-wife, Cecilia. Cecilia had a decent pad, with a toilet that didn't flush (after you poop, you had to fill a bucket with water and hand flush).
The bathroom had a very large and thick metal door... reminded me of a prision door. The door would automatically lock when shut from the outside, and Cecilia usually kept a key nearby in case of emergencies -- USUALLY, but not always. She also had two latrines out back, but you had to exit her house through locked front doors. The key for the front door was kept nearby -- USUALLY, but not always.
Can you sense what is going to happen here?
Rich and I both had BAD bouts of diarrhea the entire summer due to the food, water, and the general environment (Mexico isn't the cleanest place on earth). The "Mexico Blues" hit us hard all summer, and I returned from my adventure all skin and bones.
One glorious windy night, Rich and I were sleeping (I was on a cot on the floor, he had the bed). Rich had been very ill, and the runs had been punching his chocolate starfish all day. After falling asleep for 5 hours, the brown slop had ample chance to build up in his sickly system.
All of a sudden Rich sat straight up. All he said was "Oh Shit!" I caught a glimpse of him running past me, out of the room, and straight to the toilet. Little did he know that the strong winds blew the bathroom door shut. I heard his screams of despair as he tugged at the thick metal door. It was very dark and he couldn't find the key, nor did he have time to look! Next I heard him running to the front door for the latrines... LOCKED! I was laughing out loud as I pictured him running in a panic, holding is ass shut, figuring out his next course of action.
Wondering what the hell he was going to do, I heard loud splats and moans of relief. I ran out, turned on the light, and witnessed Rich expelling his runny poos all over Cecilia's tile floor! All I did was laugh at Rich as I shook my head and went back to bed. Poor guy, he was up all night wiping up his smelly poop off the floor...
Like I said -- pain, trechery, and tragedy in Mexico: the land of messy poos.
-- Scotty Black