A week ago I had my first traumatizing poop experience. Here’s the story. It’s gonna be long so grab a drink or something.
Last weekend I stayed over at my mom’s to spend time with her and to celebrate my birthday with my family. She gave me a ride back home, which is an hour away, because I don’t own a car.
Before leaving, we ate some tacos. I absolutely love tacos and eat them all the time. When we left, it was dark outside, very foggy and rainy, so it was pretty slow on the highway.
Fifteen minutes into the ride, my stomach started to hurt a little. I didn’t think too much about it, because hey, it happens, right? Then minutes passed, and my stomach ache started to hurt a lot more. I told my mom about it, but I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal. “Nah honestly I’m fine, I can wait until we arrive,” I told my mom.
Then it became unbearable. Completely unbearable. I was clenching my thighs, my whole legs—everything—to keep it together. My mom told me, “You can try to fart, maybe your stomach ache will go away.” I just said, “Mom, if I try to fart I’m going to mess my pants.” I didn’t even feel embarrassed. I was just focusing on keeping it inside.
Then my mom told me she had a plastic bag, in case I couldn’t hold it. I believed in myself and told her I would be fine. Not even five minutes later, I looked at her and said, “Mom I’m so sorry but it’s time. It’s happening. I need the bag.”
I jumped into the backseat, ripped my pants off, threw them on the floor, put the plastic bag under me, and I didn’t even need to push. It just… happened. I was basically spraying diarrhea into a plastic bag like I had turned into Niagara Falls.
The smell. THE SMELL. I don’t even want to describe it. A mix of expired tacos and barnyard disaster. My poor mom had to drive through the fog, while dealing with that stench.
It was so bad I had to act fast. I sealed the bag, rolled down the window, and tossed it out onto the side of the road. Thankfully, I threw it far enough that it didn’t hit any cars behind us.
I thought it was over.
Nope.
My mom was dropping me off at a metro station because she didn’t want to drive all the way through the city. When we got to the metro, I felt worse. I needed to go again, and I felt like I might throw up too. I jumped out of the car and ran inside to find a bathroom. When I reached into my pocket for my wallet… nothing. My pockets were empty.
I ran back toward my mom’s car—thankfully she was still parked—and told her I couldn’t find my wallet. We searched the car from top to bottom. Nothing.
At this point, I was sweating like crazy, shaking, and doing everything I could not to lose control again. We couldn’t find my wallet anywhere. I gave up. My mom handed me $20, and I went back into the metro station, bought a ticket, and somehow found a bathroom. I barely made it. I didn’t throw up, but I was close.
Afterward, I was so tired I could barely walk. I got on the metro, got home, and checked all my pockets and bags again. No wallet.
My mom checked her car again when she got back. Still nothing.
And then it hit me.
When I jumped into the backseat and took off my pants, my wallet must have fallen out of my pocket… and into the bag. The same bag I tossed out the window. Yep—my wallet is probably sitting in a plastic bag somewhere on the side of the road, covered in what came out of me.
And to make things worse, this was two days after my birthday. My wallet had my birthday money in it. All my IDs. My bank card. My metro card. Everything.
I’m 19. I’m broke. And now my entire wallet is gone in the worst possible way.
So yeah, that was my poop story. Thank you for reading. I’m still not over it.
This post has been modified for this website from the original post here.