My New Year's Resolution for 2003 was to get healthy. I was by no means fat, but a few too many nights of wings and beer were starting to catch up. So for the first two weeks of January I was straight up healthy -- lots of vegetables, exercise, etc. Then a good friend called me during work, wanting to go to Hooters after. No red-blooded male would refuse to go out for wings and beer with a hot chick, so I accepted. We met and shot the breeze while downing a few platters of wings and numerous pitchers of beer.

I woke up the next morning feeling fine. Since it was an abysmally cold Pennsylvania morning, I stopped at Uni-Mart for a coffee. In the past, coffee has served as a colossal catalyst for the intestinal system... but I digress. I got to work and started the day.

At the time, I worked in a large old industrial facility -- the kind that has been added to in bits and pieces over the years. I had to lay out a conduit run in the basement area, so I got the required gear on. Hard hat, steel toed Doc Martin's, safety glasses, protective coat, radio, flash light, and various tools. The basement of this plant is an exceptionally hot, humid, dirty, miserable place, so I usually try to get everything accomplished in one trip to minimize the agony.

By the time I made my way into the bowels of the plant, my intestines were growling... not a good sign. But I hate getting all suited up, so I continued on with the job. After about thirty minutes, it became clear that I gotta purge the system IMMEDIATELY. I subconsciously consider the options for restroom relief... yeah, that should do. A little-used restroom in the sub-basement area of the plant. A little-known refuge, but ideal for this day.

So I hauled ass in that direction, only to meet another co-worker. A hell of nice guy, no doubt, but notoriously long-winded. After a few agonizing minutes and some wretched farts I decide further communication is fruitless, and as soon as he turns his head to point out some minute detail I bolt from the area as fast as possible.

I climbed the stairs in record time and entered the abode, seemingly the aftermath of some long-forgotten expansion. It was obviously built as a one-stall unit, but a large ventilation duct was unfortunately placed so as to direct a stream of arctic-like air onto the hapless user. Thus, as an afterthought, a small second stall was added. Without hesitation, I oriented myself into stall #2 and sat down.

Now, maybe it's just me, but I can't attain dumping satisfaction while heavily dressed. So I shed the radio, the tools and the coat. I then took off the hard-hat and hung it on a nail jutting out of the particleboard some six feet off the ground and directly above the throne. I de-pantsed and was ready to start the evacuation when blackness ensued.

I awoke a while later to find myself sprawled naked on the floor, pants around the ankles, hard-hat and nail to my side. Somehow the damn nail slipped out and the falling hardhat had knocked me out cold. Thankfully nobody else entered while I was out, so I was spared from the specter of office rumors. Nonetheless, I had acquired a large lump on the head and a throbbing headache. So, beware all ye industrial shitters, unforeseen horrors abound.

-- Greg K.