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The IBS Diaries Vol. 11: Chinese Takeout Takedown

We’re back again for week XI, one week closer to pants season, for another page out of an anonymous diary. Let’s give our speaker the floor as he re-lives the events from that day for us.


My wife insists that I have IBS, I think its poor dieting and drinking too much but that’s another story.

Same difference.

Back in 2008, still living with my parents, but going into Center City Philly every weekend, staying at my best friends girlfriends (Ellen – to protect the innocent) apartment.  The Saturday started as normal as any other.  I ate Chinese food with my dad before heading downtown.  First mistake.
Last* mistake. Chinese food is by no means a good drinking stuffer, the Chinese shits are a different ball game. They come hard, quick, and in waves. Cancelled afternoon plans every time. Hope this guy at least has some sort of idea what he’s in for.
We pregame a couple of beers at Ellen’s apartment and head out.  We walked about 6 blocks to the bar and I order a Miller Lite.  Halfway through the beer it hits me.  My stomach makes a concerning noise and seems to do a flip.  I jokingly tell my friends, “ill be right back, before i shit my pants” I walk into the bathroom and its 3 urinals and 1 stall, no door.  It’s the type of bar that someone usually pisses on the toilet paper to discourage shitting.  I can’t possibly shit here.
I just don’t understand the stalls with no doors. Anyone with any respect for themselves doesn’t even think about going no-door. If you’re the restaurant you have to realize it’s not an ideal bathroom break. And maybe that’s the goal, to get no one to use your stall. Goal accomplished.
I would never say this out loud, but the no-door stalls almost make me want to cause accidental flooding to their toilet even more just to spite the business. I mean come on. No one wants to shit in a bar but exceptions have to be made sometimes.
I contemplate going into the women’s room but that could result in me getting tuned up by the bouncer and everyone thinking I shat myself out of fear, not kung pao chicken.  I ask Ellen for her apartment keys, I have to go back to knock this out.  She of course hands me a set that would make a janitor blush.  I plead with her to come back with me so she can use the right keys on the right doors and save me time. Ellen refuses and I burst out the bar with her keys in hand.
I never recommend looking for better options. That’s getting cocky when you shouldn’t be. Also, it feels a lot worse if you fall short of your target knowing that you were being greedy. We should be treating every minute in the grace period like it’s our last. I understand this was a doorless stall, but 6 blocks is a huge risk we both know you can’t take. All we can do is pray at this point.

6 blocks is too far to walk, but alas a cabbie pulls up.  I tell him “look ahmed (real name) Im about to shit myself I need to goto 12th and locust and i need to get there now”  luckily he totally gets it.

Potential witnesses: Cab driver. I almost wouldn’t have told him the situation because now he’s going to be looking in his rearview for the show to happen.

Pants situation:Unidentified

Current form of transit: Taxi cab. You never want to take a cab or uber during the 2 minute warning because you could end up owing someone money afterwards.

Nearest restroom: This definitely can’t be the nearest, but we’re headed 6 blocks away to Ellen’s bathroom. Again, nothing good comes of being a beggar doubling as a chooser in these scenarios, but Godspeed nonetheless.

Ahmed runs stop signs, barely touching his brakes.  He gets me to the corner I asked…but I made a huge mistake, that was the other end of the street, i was still a full block, down a 1 way street and didnt have time for him to loop around.  I tell him meet me outside that building ill be right out to go back to the bar and ill pay him handsomely.

I take off in a sprint down the longest block of my life. get to the door and of course fumble the keys.  the gods smile on me as i get the first door open fairly quickly.  door number 2 doesn’t go so well.  i try multiple keys and finally after maybe the 8th try,  the door unlocks and as the bolt clicks, I explode.

Shit runs down my jeans, and into my socks.  with great shame i walk down the 2 steps into the lobby.  Ellen’s apartment is the first door.  theres shit everywhere.  as im unlocking her apartment door the neighbor comes out.

Neighbor: hey hows it going

Me: seen better days.

Neighbor: ……

he sees my pants, sees the lobby, and of course smells everything.  he turns towards the opposite way and heads down the hallway.  very likely he moved out soon after.

i open her friend door, and luckily the bathroom is right there.  stepping right onto the bathmat, disrobe, roll up everything like a burrito in that bathmat and take a shower.  from there i throw the evidence in a trash bag and dispose of it all.  i have no clothes at this apartment so im forced to put on a pair of her sweatpants.  I chose the ones that said Juicy on the ass because that was an accurate description.  I call Ellen and explain her bathmat was compromised and my night is over, as i hear the cabby blaring his horn out front the building.

The post-just shit yourself scaries are right up there on the podium with last day of vacation scaries and the Jan. 2 scaries. The feeling of defeat while you’re using toilet paper and hand soap on your legs is inexplicable. Throw in the fact that you damaged someone else’s property in the process and they might even take the gold home for best worst scaries.

Hours later my friends return howling with laughter at my misfortune.  they walk in around the same time as another resident who sees the shit in the hallway and says “people dont clean up after their dogs, disgusting.  the next day i ask my friend to go retrieve my car from the garage a few blocks away so i dont have to take the walk of shame. i return to my parents house in the velour pants and my father looks at me.  “what the fuck are you wearing?”  i explain i shit myself. “your an absolute disgrace, when are you going to grow up, getting so drunk you shit yourself?!”  i tell him i wasnt drunk, this was at about 830 pm.  he laughs “oh yeah that chinese jacked me up too”
11 years later and this story comes up regularly.

They can’t all end happily ever after. Thank you for sharing your story with us Anonymous, and thanks to the rest of you for coming out today. As always send me your pain and struggle via story for the IBS Diaries XII next week to


Old entries:

IBS Diaries Vol 1.

IBS Diaries Vol 2.

IBS Diaries Vol 3.

IBS Diaries Vol 4.

IBS Diaries Vol 5: Blizzard Beach

IBS Diaries Vol 6: Hotel HotBox

IBS Diaries Vol 7: Hand Soap Showers

IBS Diaries Vol 8: Fried Egg Run

The IBS Diaries Vol. 9: The IBS Queen

The IBS Diaries Vol. 10