Walmart Special on Maxi-Pads and my horrifying experience pooping in a bag 🛍️ 💩

My wife told me this story last week:

So I’m driving with our kid in the car, just doing regular stuff, when out of nowhere—BAM—my stomach cramps up so hard I almost had to pull over right then and there. I’m talking about that violent kind of pain that makes you go cold, start sweating, and immediately rethink everything you’ve ever eaten in your life.

I knew I didn’t have long. This wasn’t a drill. This wasn’t a “maybe I can make it home” kind of situation. No—this was a you’ve got maybe five minutes before total disaster level emergency.

I spot a Citgo up ahead and practically fly into the parking lot. I park like a maniac, jump out, grab our child—who has no idea their parent is about to have a full-blown crisis—and rush inside. I ask the clerk, “Do you have a bathroom?” He nods toward the back. I practically sprint there with the kid on my hip… and of course, the door’s locked.

Someone’s already in there.

I knock. No answer. I stand there, doing that weird little dance you do when your body is like, “We are seconds from disaster.” I’m shifting my weight side to side, quietly panicking, whispering to myself, “Come on, come on, come on…” but the person in there is clearly in no rush. Probably scrolling TikTok or something, completely unaware that I’m 15 seconds away from my digestive system betraying me in public.

I realized I couldn’t wait. I grab the kid, run back to the car, and slam the door shut like I’m being chased. At this point I’m sweating through my clothes. I’m gripping the steering wheel, trying to breathe, and scan the road for the next possible bathroom.

I see a McDonald’s sign up ahead and I think, “Okay, this is it. We’ve got this.” But when I pull in, the parking lot is packed. Like every space taken. I would’ve had to circle the lot or park halfway across the lot and walk, and I knew I didn’t have that kind of time. My body was already knocking on the door of “code brown.”

So I keep driving, and I see a Walmart. It’s not ideal, but at this point, I’d poop in a shoebox if I had to. I pull into the parking lot, but the second I stop the car, I know—deep in my bones—I am not making it into that building.

There is no way I’m walking through the entire Walmart with a toddler and making it to the bathroom without something going horribly wrong. I make the quickest decision of my life: I crawl into the backseat.

Now, I know how this sounds. I didn’t want this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

I find a random plastic bag in the back—thank God for car clutter—and I just go. I didn’t even have time to think. It wasn’t just a normal poop. No. This was diarrhea. Explosive, no-holding-back, full-on internal breakdown level diarrhea.

Meanwhile, our kid is in the front seat, completely chill, watching cartoons on my phone, probably thinking, “Mom’s being weird back there.”

I finish up, horrified, and realize I have nothing to wipe with. I start scrambling through the car like I’m on a game show where the prize is not having poop on your butt. No napkins. No tissues. No baby wipes. But then—like a gift from the universe—I spot some maxi pads in the glove box.

Maxi pads.

So I wipe my butt with maxi pads. Thick ones. Honestly, 10/10 performance from them. Not their intended purpose, but they really stepped up that day.

I finish wiping, tie the poop bag as tight as I can (trying not to think too hard about what just happened), and now I’m sitting there like, What do I even DO with this? I can’t keep it in the car. I can’t walk into Walmart with it like some demented sack lunch. So… I crack the door open, look around like a criminal, and toss it out.

That’s right. I left it. In the Walmart parking lot. I’m not proud. But when you’ve just pooped in your own backseat while your child watches “Blippi,” your pride isn’t exactly at its peak.

I get back in the front seat, crank the AC, and drive off like I’m fleeing the scene of a crime. Didn’t look back. Didn’t speak. Just stared ahead, emotionally numb, butt slightly damp, and full of regret.

Got home, took the longest shower of my life, and swore I’d never leave the house again without emergency supplies. Wipes, spare undies, and maybe a port-a-potty.

So yeah. That’s how your wife ended up pooping in a Walmart parking lot with maxi pads as her only defense.