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The IBS Diaries Vol. 7: Hand Soap Showers

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Based off my inbox numbers it seems like a lot of you took a shit in your pants this week. Not judging, just trying to make everyone feel less alone. For the record, I don’t ever laugh when any of you grand reveal at some point in your dairy that one got past security. It’s a moment of silence every time. The more I read these entries, the more I can’t help but think how beneficial wearing a diaper would really be for so many people. Personally speaking it would wipe out about a third of my problems. And I think I speak for this week’s speaker, Anonymous from Kansas City, when I say he could have put one to use a couple times too. As always, let’s give him our utmost respect while he relives the events for us.

 In 2013 I was wrapping up my time as a KC chiefs intern when a fellow intern and I decided to grab some dinner after work. We decided on a Mexican restaurant which is already a hit or miss proposition for me as sometimes Mexican food sits nicely in my stomach or 10 minutes later I am sprinting to the toilet while clenching my cheeks in hopes of not shitting all over myself.

I’ve stated before that I’ve never adjusted my diet at all out of spite to the syndrome, however, I still know what I’m signing up for on Taco Tuesdays. Rule one of Mexican food night: Diarrhea is always right around the corner. Can’t run from it can’t hide from it. I’m either shitting before I leave a PePe’s or doing 90 on the way home from PePe’s. The aftermath is inevitable. That said, it only makes sense that our subject already provided us with his grace period chart in advance:

 

Potential Witnesses: The 20 people I walked by to get to the restaurant bathroom (it was incredibly tight in the restaurant in terms of spacing between tables and I am a bigger fellow).

 

Current form of transportation: Legs. We were eating at a restaurant in KC and my buddy lived about 15 minutes away.

 

Pants situation: White jordan shorts. Black underwear.

 

Nearest restroom: About 30 steps from my table.

Although we all try our best not to let IBS make us, I think we can all sacrifice wearing white pants when we don’t need to. Such a huge risk for a reward so minimal.

The dinner was incredibly nice as we had some drinks and bullshitted about life. I made the decision to order a wet chicken burrito, which was a a huge gamble but I didn’t care as I was hungry and I had complete confidence in my bowels that night (probably because I had one too many pacificos). The burrito itself was absolutely fantastic and seemed to be initially settling okay. About 15 minutes after completing it I remember getting a feeling of gas build up in my stomach. I was convinced it was merely gonna be a small fart that would alleviate the pressure.

Never under any circumstances should you release a chance fart when you’re toeing the line with Mexican food. I don’t know how many more times we have to go over this. It’s almost a spit in the face to the syndrome. Even when you think it’ll be a nice little left cheek sneak, it won’t be. That’s what they want you to think. Don’t take the cheese.

I then decided to lean forward a bit to let it out and when I let it out it was the complete opposite of what I expected: it was a tsunami of liquid diarrhea that began to flood my underwear.

Let us remove our caps and bow our heads.

The flow of liquid ass piss ran for about 12 seconds or so but it felt like it went for about an hour. As calmly as I could I got up, clenched by cheeks, subtly pulled my pants up as high as I could because I was wearing white shorts and I know someone would have seen the shit stains on the back of my shorts, and began making a jaunt to the bathroom.

As always this is a judgment free-zone, but our guy here fucked up huge time. Trusting a fart under those circumstances was dumb and irresponsible. We can’t be losing the game over fundamentals. Only telling you this so you can learn from it.

I was in panic because not only were my shorts, ass, and thighs covered in shit, but the tables/booths in the restaurant were so close together I was sure someone was gonna see my stained shorts/smell the shit that was coming from me. I luckily navigated my way to the single urinal/stall bathroom where I grabbed sheets of paper towels and drenched them in hot water and shitty hand soap.

Using hand soap as body wash and/or detergent is one of the lowest moments in a person’s life. You don’t use hand soap on non-hand areas unless you absolutely need to. Cleaning up the residue off yourself afterwards is like patching up your wounds after a lost boxing match. If the bathroom only has air dryers and no paper towels it’s that much worse. You gotta squat and distort your body under a hand dryer for 10 minutes while staring down the door for any incoming potential witnesses. Awful. The hand soap shower comes highly unrecommended. Salute to anyone who’s been there before.

I went into the stall and I made the decision to toss my underwear in the trash because it was not worth my time to clean them up. I cleaned myself up first then went to work on my white shorts. Shitty hand soap is not the best way to try and clean shit stained white shorts but I did the best I could. This entire process took me 20 minutes and the biggest miracle is that not one single person went into the bathroom. Luckily when I went back to my table it was time to go. I was proud of myself in the fact that my buddy did not smell shit while we drove back to his place, meaning my hard cleaning work paid off. I washed my stuff as soon as I got to his house and moved on with my life. My wife absolutely loves this story and tries to get me to tell it when possible. Anyways this was my IBS story and I wanted to share it with you. Have a grand day!

Nothing like a miracle ending like this. Almost too good to be true if we’re being honest. But we appreciate you sharing your story with us Anonymous from KC. Everyone else be sure to send in yours to djconrad41@gmail.com or @DannyJConrad for next week. Keep fighting the war until then. Thanks for comin’ out.