I am not one who has many pooping episodes. I live the boring existence of my once-per-day morning sit-down. But around this time, for some reason, I had been on a record hot streak. I had been delivering sizeable dumps that I had only dreamed about, dumps that I had only read about in books. Being in college, I had industrial strength dorm toilets, which meant that my savage deposits would be blasted away with a stream of water equal to the jet wash from an F-15.
We drove to my roommate's house and met his parents, who are still the nicest two people I have ever met in my life. The house itself was pretty standard 1950's construction, including the one bathroom on the second floor with no fan and a window that had been caulked shut years before. The toilet itself was one of those pre low-flow toilets that looked real nice but did little else beyond only gently swirling the water around.
On Easter Day, we went and picked up my roommate's grandmother. She was about ninety and pretty much deaf, blind, and in a rather feeble state. We got back to his house and had a wonderful meal -- but I was I immediately starting to get contractions. Usually I would get those nice, easy warm-up contractions that give me plenty of time to get where I need to go; but not in this case. I went from feeling nothing all the way to full-fledged pull-your-bottom-lip-over-the-top-of-your-head type-cramps.
I excused myself. And by the time I reached the top of the stairs, I was touching cloth. I reached the bathroom and unleashed the chocolate hostage that was screaming in my bowels. Everything went about as well as it could -- and to my amazement, there was no odor.
I stood up and viewed my three-pound Easter Yule log with great pride. I felt a great sense of relief as I flushed the toilet. But the flush didn't sound quite right, which made me wonder about a possible clog, so I went back.
Everything looked normal. The turd was gone. And with no odor, it was like I was never there! A perfect result when you are soiling a friend's house.
About fifteen minutes later, my roommate went upstairs. The next thing I heard was his shout: "Oh my God! Get up here, quick!" Everyone except grandma went upstairs to see what the problem was.
My roommate was on the toilet with his pants around his ankles. He had started to go and had chosen to employ the courtesy flush technique -- something with which I was unfamiliar at the time -- and when he had flushed, both his newly minted turd and my chocolate hostage, which apparently had caused the toilet blockage, had spilled out of the toilet and into his pants, which were more or less acting like a strainer. There was poo everywhere and the most horrendous stench I had ever smelled.
I never let on that I had left the clogger. Instead, I said to my roommate, "Dude what's wrong with you? You need to go to the hospital or something?"
My last sight in that bathroom was of my roommate's mother on her hands and knees, cleaning the bathroom in her Leave it to Beaver skirt.
I was the first one downstairs, which meant I was the first to find the blind grandmother, who we had all left at the table, wandering around the first floor, bumping into furniture. I brought her back to the table. "What the Christ smells so bad?" she demanded. I told her I wasn't sure, but that I thought her grandson needed to go see a doctor.
Later that day, we decided to go to a local college to play basketball. As we started to play, I quickly became aware that I was going to have a repeat performance from earlier that day. I had a sense of relief when I arrived in the bathroom to see the old Jet Propulsion Lab toilets, just like we had at my dorm. I sat down and my Easter meal left the departure lounge. I cleaned up and left the stall with a quick flush.
As I washed my hands, I heard the water start to spill over the bowl. I took a quick look and saw my second Easter gift lying in a perfect pile on the floor.
I often wonder what horror some poor maintenance person met that Monday after Easter. I ran out the door full of glee and rejoined my roommate playing basketball. Two floor-mounted masterpieces in one day, and I didn't get busted for either.