Okay, so let me tell you what happened to me the other day because it was honestly one of the worst and most ridiculous moments of my life.
So, I’m driving to this thing—it’s about an hour away if traffic is chill. I left on time, everything was fine at first, and I was just vibing in the car, music playing, iced coffee in hand, thinking I was gonna get there early. I was feeling pretty proud of myself.
And then—of course—bam, traffic. Like, insane traffic. The kind where every lane is completely packed, nothing is moving, and everyone starts turning their cars off and getting out to walk around. It was like a weird little freeway block party but with a lot more swearing and car horns. I was totally boxed in too—cars on every side, no chance of getting off the freeway or pulling onto the shoulder. I was stuck.
At first, I wasn’t too stressed about it. I figured it would clear up soon, right?
Wrong.
After maybe 10 minutes of sitting there, my stomach started doing this little rumble. And I was like, okay… maybe just a little gas? Whatever, I can hold it. I’m not five years old, right?
Cut to five more minutes later, and my body is fully turning on me. Like my stomach was doing flips. The gurgling was loud enough that I swear I thought the guy next to me could hear it through the window. And I start getting that feeling—you know the one. Where your brain is like “Uh oh… we are not okay.”
I was sweating. Legs crossed. Panicking. I’m literally trying to meditate in my car like, “You’re okay. Breathe. It’s mind over matter. You can do this.”
Spoiler alert: I could not do it.
Now here’s the thing—I kept thinking, if I just get out of the car and run behind a bush or something, I might be okay. Like a little emergency forest poop situation. But I’m also the type of person who would rather die than have a stranger see me in an embarrassing situation. Everyone was out of their cars, just standing around, talking, walking their dogs, and here I am, trapped in my own car, having a full-on digestive breakdown.
So I stayed in the car. Like an idiot. Telling myself I’d hold it.
And then… it happened.
There’s no gentle way to say this. I shit myself. Straight up. I had no control. My body gave up. It wasn’t even like a “maybe it’s just a little bit” situation—it was BAD. And not solid. Nope. It was full-on mudslide. I felt it, and I just sat there in shock. Like… “Did I really just do this?”
Yes. Yes, I did.
I couldn’t even move. I was frozen. My brain shut off. I’m just sitting in it like, “This can’t be real life. This has to be a dream.” But nope—it was VERY real.
And the worst part? I still had to wait in that traffic for like another 20 minutes. Just… sitting there. In my own shame. Couldn’t roll the windows down because I didn’t want to make it worse. Couldn’t get out. Couldn’t do anything. Just pain, regret, and the hot, hot sun.
Finally, FINALLY, traffic starts to move again. I take the first exit I see, spot a gas station, and make a beeline for it. I park, hop out (more like awkward-waddle out), and speed-walk into the bathroom like I’m on a mission. I didn’t even look at anyone—I just made a straight line for that toilet like my life depended on it.
I get in the bathroom, lock the door, and just stand there for a second like, “Okay… what now?” My underwear was a war zone. I had no backup clothes. I had to rinse out my panties in the sink, toss ’em in the trash, and use a ton of those horrible brown paper towels to try and get myself back to a human level. It was so tragic.
Eventually, I pulled myself together, got back in the car, and finished the drive. When I got to my friend’s place, I straight-up told her everything. I figured if I was gonna suffer, I might as well make someone laugh. And honestly, we laughed so hard I cried.
So yeah. That was my day. I pooped my pants on the freeway because I couldn’t get of my car.
Moral of the story? Don’t trust a fart when you’re in traffic. Ever. No matter how confident you feel.