Please Do Not Poo in Your Pants, Thanks

Fact: someone recently told me that they went into the bathroom of the restaurant they worked at in order to give it the cursory check. When emptying the trash can, inside it was a pair of neatly folded men's underwear that was full of shit. I can only imagine what led to that catastrophic event. I hypothesize:

It was a lovely Saturday morning in early fall when a man decided he wanted French Toast and bacon for breakfast. He took himself to the nearby diner and ordered his meal. As he waited for his food to arrive, his stomach began to rumble and moan a bit. "Hmmm," he thought. "Maybe I shouldn't have had that glass of Metamucil before I left the privacy of my own bathroom. Oh well. I'm sure everything will be fine." His waitress placed his order before him and he started eating, enjoying the fresh blueberries that were piled high on his plate. As he took a bite of his maple bacon that was cooked perfectly, his stomach again twitched. Suddenly, he realized that he needed to go to the bathroom. Immediately. Still chewing the bacon, he ran to the single occupancy facility. He surveyed the cleanliness of the bathroom and noticed there were no toilet liners making it necessary to place layers of toilet paper around the seat. Hurrying to strategically place the paper before he strategically placed his ass, he farted. Sensing urgency, he threw down his pants and sat on the toilet releasing his bowels just in time. Or so he thought. Looking down, he noticed what looked like the contents of a can of Wolf Brand Chili sitting in his underwear. "Oh my God. I just shit in my pants. I just fucking shit in my pants. Are you freakin' kidding me? Did I just shit in my fucking pants." Someone knocked on the door. "Occupied!" he screamed.

The man didn't know what to do. His stomach was feeling fine now, but his underwear were not. He knew he could not put them back on. He slowly lifted his legs from his pants and was now standing naked from the waist down in the bathroom that probably had a line outside of it by now. "I'll just fold them up and wrap them in some paper towels," he thought and then noticed the air hand dryer on the wall. No paper towels. He opened the trash can which was of course empty and he gently placed his feces covered Fruit of the Looms at the bottom of the pail. Another knock on the door. "Occupied!!" With no paper towels in sight, his only option for cleaning up was wet toilet paper. He went through a whole roll of it as he tried to clean his ass from the explosion. When it came time to flush the toilet, it stopped up. Thankfully, there was a plunger on hand so he plunged away the evidence and prepared to leave the bathroom. Minus his underwear of course.

We can only assume that the man rushed back to his table, threw a twenty dollar bill on it and fled the scene because he knew someone was going into the bathroom immediately following him. He ran down the street chafing his taint with his jeans and wondering if his underwear was the only thing that had poo on it. Meanwhile, a lowly waitress goes into the restroom to make sure there is a soap. She smells something in the trash can, open it and screams out, "Who the fuck does this? Asshole." That same waitress later emails The Bitchy Waiter to tell him what she dealt with at her job that day.

(Sorry for the repeat, but I have a long day ahead of me.) And how was your day?

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