Only the senior bathrooms were open. Since I was a junior, that really frightened me. I didn't wanna go take a huge crap while scared a senior might walk in, smell my putrid methane chemical attack, and beat me senseless. My fears soon escalated: the bathroom was indeed swarming with seniors all smoking and bunking classes, and there was no damn way I was gonna brave all that.
I ended up walking around the block of classrooms over and over in the hopes that maybe an asteroid or something would come crashing down, causing everyone to flee in panic, leaving the bathroom all to me. Instead, the gods of floating fecal matter sent an angel. She appeared as a pimple-faced grade twelve girl, asking me to please carry her artwork down to the hall. I obliged. She told me to be careful with it, not realizing that I was on the verge of shitting my pants. If that bomb dropped, forensic detectives would battle to find the epicenter of the explosion.
I grabbed her artwork and literally ran my little white ass off down the hall, banging and scraping the artwork against every possible corner of the walls. I didn't do it on purpose -- I was so close to crapping my pants that I needed to get back to that senior bathroom as fast as possible. I hoped to God that the rebels had all gone off to class.
I threw her artwork down and felt the most horrid pain in my stomach. It was time. I was gonna soil myself outside in the hall. God hated me, and I didn't understand what I had done to deserve this punishment. But I took it like a man, getting ready to pull my pants down and shit my guts out.
Then I saw a glimmer of hope. A beacon of light. It came to me in the form of a sign that read, "Teachers Bathroom."
"Oh God, you didn't forsake me after all!" I meekly opened the door to the bathroom to make sure I didn't run into any authority figure. Then I went into the first stall I found and crapped into it the most frothy brown broth ever to exit my body. It was hitting the surface of the water at such a velocity that swamp liquid was splashing onto my innocent ass cheeks and nut sack, painting the white walls of the porcelain palace brown.
I was starting to feel better when, still in mid-shit, I heard the main bathroom door open. I tightened all the muscles in my body as hard as possible to stop the destruction from continuing. Then I lifted my bag and blazer off the floor in case someone saw them and propped my feet up against the stall door. Two people entered the bathroom: my principal and the deputy principal. Could it get any worse? Of all the people to walk in, why the two most important people on campus? I kept my sphincter tight enough to crack a walnut and prayed to the gods that the men would leave soon. The last thing I needed was for them to be in the bathroom when onslaught number two commenced.
They both urinated as they talked about some student or other, and then left. Before that main door closed, I just had to release the tension in my anus and let the flow continue. And boy, it was worse than the first time. Finally the massacre subsided and I felt better. I turned to grab some toilet paper to wipe my torn and tattered butthole. To my horror and disgust, I realized the toilet paper was finished. Then I shat again. I couldn't believe my luck at that point -- I just hoped that the other stall in the bathroom had some toilet paper. If it didn't, I was prepared to wipe my ass with my newly-received maths revision worksheet.
I grabbed my bag and blazer and opened the stall door even more meekly than I had opened that bathroom door the moment I entered. Then, with my pants around my ankles, I shimmied to the other stall as fast as I could, terrified someone would come in. With sweat dripping from my forehead, I peered into the second stall and saw toilet paper. I was so overcome with joy that I sat down on the pristine toilet and defiled it just as I did the first one.
After onslaught number three, I wiped my ass and butt cheeks with three-quarters of the roll and flushed away my nightmare. By the time I was done, it was already break-time, so I went to my usual spot to tell all my mates my story. They all laughed until they cried. I was just relieved to be out of that shitty situation.
As I was writing this, I realized something: I never did flush the first toilet I bombarded with my blitzkrieg from hell. So all I can say is this: stay in school, kids. You don't want to be the janitor that ends up cleaning the unearthly excrement of people like me.