There was a time in my life, where I was concerned about what others thought of me. I think that is a pretty natural feeling for most of us. Fortunately, I’ve reached the point, where I realize, the only opinions about me that matter, are those of my wife and kids. I’m 42 and walk with a cane. I have an 8 inch scar across my back from open heart surgery. My “Dad-Bod” torso now sits upon two twigs for legs, as result of the spinal nerve damage I suffered from the same car accident. I no longer fear people may stare at me in public, I know they do. I see them, out of the corner of my eye, as I walk into a gymnasium or through a grocery store. There was a time when this too used to bother me, but no more. As long as I have the full love and support of my wife and especially my children, nothing else really matters.
Because of my new outlook on life, I feel pretty secure and am willing to share all the crazy stories from my past. My erstwhile pain, will now be your reading pleasure. I previously blogged about one of my NPS (near pant shitting) experiences, in “Hash House I’ve Gotta Go Go”. If you were amused with that story, then I’m sure you will love my new SMP (shit my pants) chronicles!
As I’ve explained in past stories, I now take many medications for different issues such as type 2 diabetes and high blood pressure. It took me quite a while to figure out what I could eat without upsetting my stomach. Seven years ago, I was still in that learning process. Emily and I had been married about a year. Herbie was a few months old and she was still on maternity leave. I was just coming off the Atkins diet, which I was forced to be a part of, as Em tried to lose her post-baby weight. This reminds me.....up until that time, I had no idea there was such a thing as sugar free ketchup. I remember, I was overjoyed to put a condiment on my daily slab of meat. That excitement, however, was lost after my first bite. I would have sworn someone had covered my unseasoned piece of beef, with fermented bandages and pickled farts! My stomach was definitely pissed off at me.
Emily had lost the weight she wanted, which meant I could eat like a human again. She came up with the great idea of trying something new to eat for lunch. Knowing that this was a recipe for disaster, I went along with it anyway. Em decided on a new Korean restaurant in town. This would be my first and last experience with a Bento Box. Before we ordered, I popped an Imodium capsule. I didn’t wanna risk a premature evacuation.
Lunch went well, everything tasted delicious. Once we were finished, we hung out for a few minutes to make sure my stomach didn’t have any issues. I finally felt like it was safe to leave, so we went on our way. For some reason, Emily wanted to go by the now closed, Dillons supermarket, to pick up something specific. I was driving, Em in the passenger seat, and baby Herbie in his car seat behind me. The distance between the restaurant we had just eaten at, and our next destination, was maybe 2 miles. A huge crampy pain hit me half way into the drive. I told myself, “you can make it, it’s only about a mile”.
The problem with driving through Springfield, is there may be 24 stop lights within that mile. The pressure was building and the pain was intensifying, as I began to sweat. I was now in Poop Drive......where you drive your car like an idiot, as you fear you will crap your pants. Emily looked over and could tell something was not right. “Are you ok?” She asked. I began to explain the situation and came up with a game plan. I would pull up as close as possible to the entrance, get out and go find the bathroom, while she parked the vehicle.
By the time I pulled up to the grocery store doors, the situation was nuclear. I was experiencing stomach jihad and in a state of poop paralysis. I felt as if I were to try to stand up, there would be no way for me to keep from ripping a grumpy in the parking lot. To make matters worse, I’m wearing loose fitting boxers and khaki shorts. I decided to make a run for it, or in my case, a slow cane wielding walk. I slid out of my seat and into a standing position. I remember thinking, at that moment, “I’m good, I’m gonna make it.” With every slow, butt cheek puckering step I took, my optimism quickly diminished. I made it through the doors and headed for the men’s room, when I felt a warm, hearty sludge drip down my leg. Yep, it was happening. My emergency walk, was now a walk of shame as I slowly left a trail of shit stew in my wake. Once I made it to the bathroom stall, I dropped my pants and delivered a Hungarian Air Raid, as I hovered over the toilet from about 4 feet out.
I called Emily from inside my new home, because I could see no way in which I would ever be able to show myself in public again. She went and found a manager, explained the situation, and they closed off the men’s room, so that she could come help me clean up. I was lucky that we had some extra clothes of mine in the truck. The attire I did have on, went directly to the trash. The management and staff at that Dillons store were absolutely amazing, and well trained in disaster relief after the massive Poonami brought on by Hurricane Herb.
This would be my first “SMP” experience, but certainly not my last.