This post is somewhat out of the wheelhouse of this blog, but I had to put this somewhere. July 1, 2014...never forget.
Act I, The Backstory
Let me start by saying I have never been a fan of soccer. It's not for lack of trying; my brother played (and plays) in a league, and I have been to several soccer matches with the best intentions of enjoying it. But I just couldn't get into it.
My U.S. employer is owned by a Belgian parent company. So when we found out that Team U.S.A. was facing off against Belgium in the World Cup, it was cause for excitement in the office. They let us wear jerseys and jeans to our (normally well-dressed) workplace for the day, and some of us even cut out a little early to head to a bar to watch the game.
Before I go any further, I have to state that my buddy and I have been trying to stick to the paleo diet for a few weeks, and I've been pretty good about it. My body hasn't seen much in the way of bread, alchohol, and fried foods for almost a month. It has gotten used to this 'new normal.' So, I ate really well during the first part of game day. I just ate lean turkey, and fruit, and veggies for breakfast and lunch, washing it all down with water and black coffee only.
Act II, The Betrayal
The place we went was pretty cool, but was standing room only for almost the entire game. The bar had $2 patriotic red and blue Jell-O shots. My coworkers bought me three during the course of the match. They also sprung for a couple beers. Then near the end of the match we finally got a table, and they ordered hot wings, fried pickles, and bacon cheese fries. I somehow got out of there without having to spend a dollar. Little did I know, I would actually pay for this.
The game was exciting during the extra time. That's when there were tons of shots on goal and a few goals made. There was a good energy in the bar as everyone cheered for Team U.S.A., and I thought I might actually like this soccer thing. Then we lost, but I didn't lose my hope that I could like soccer. Maybe I'd give it another shot.
After the game, when we were good to drive, I start driving home and I gotta pee. So I stop at a gas station nearby. Theirs is out of order. I drive another five minutes to a Taco Bell. I go in and I'm like 'I could poop; I might as well.' It's another 45 minutes to my house and I figure it's good to go with a preemptive strike.
Act III, The Backlash
So I go #2 and it's a nice healthy deal, unexpectedly followed by an evil, ancient sludge explosion. I've been eating well and have not pooped like that in weeks. But it felt good to get that out, and I was prepared for a low-stress commute home. I'm driving home and my bowels start a lucha libre match inside me, less than five minutes after I just defiled that Taco Bell. I panic. I have to poop again and it's not gonna be pretty. I can barely hold it.
This is the point that I must mention that it's 95 degrees and humid at this point, and my car AC is broken.
I get on the interstate and I can either go north straight home, which usually has bad traffic, or go east for a mile or two to take the surface streets north, which tends to be quicker than the interstate traffic. I go east to take the second option. For the first time in my history taking this route, it's backed up. I can spot my exit a mile away, but there's an accident. It's a mile, bumper to bumper. I seriously almost poop myself waiting, all the while sweating profusely from the heat. I'm not moving so I'm not even getting a breeze from the windows which are down.
Luckily it takes only 10 minutes or so and I make it to the exit. I see a 7-11 and go in, and destroy it. It was crazy. You don't need more details. You've been there at some point in your BM career, and you know.
Finally, I'm liberated.
Again.
End of story, right?
No.
No toilet paper.
No paper towels.
Nothing.
Not a receipt nor wet wipe nor bidet nor corn cob.
So, I just have to stand up, pull up my pants, and squish back to my car and drive home, stewing in my chones for 30 minutes at 350 degrees like a dang pot roast.
I promptly took a shower and just laid on the couch for 30 minutes, miserable.
Screw soccer.
