My foot pushed down harder on the accelerator as my stomach cramped up again in a painful spasm. I was speeding through a schoolzone, and as a sign popped up on the side of the road clearly stating ‘20’ I snapped out of my desperate panic and reluctantly dropped from ‘40’ down to ‘25’. Turning a corner I realized to my horror that it was three o’clock, and the street was mobbed with parents buzzing in and out of the building to collect their children.
I turned to look behind me and I nearly lost it, my asshole puckering as I sucked the poison back inside. I was completely boxed in. Another four cars had already trapped me inside. I smashed the horn, pleading with the traffic on either side to budge. They didn’t.
After a gruelling seven and a half agonising minutes and a half hearted search for some sort of viable receptacle and something other than socks to wipe with, the blockage finally gave way. The cars slowly began to move forward. Eagerly creeping behind, I saw the problem. Somebody had broken down right there by the school gates, having finally been repaired and sent along. A wave of relief washed over me as I considered the short journey ahead. The Porsche dealership was a little over a mile away. A dealership which had a bathroom, one I’d used before. Afterall, that’s where I’d bought my car. They knew me, and I knew I’d be able to breeze on in, no questions asked. A deep growling rumbled out over the radio and I put my foot down again as soon as I broke through onto the main road. Just a straight shot, and it would all be over.
Not a minute passed until I was once again utterly dismayed, near losing all hope; ready to just give up right there and then and ruin a perfectly decent pair of black suit pants and the interior of my beautiful brand new Porsche’s two-colour interior, characterized by a perfectly coordinated interplay of colours, materials and individual finishes suited just for me. A red light shone in the distance, and in its wake sat a long line of idling cars. Lesser cars, all in my way. My gut quaked violently and sharp pains erupted all through my midsection, sweat pouring down my back and growing sticky in the afternoon heat. I peeled myself from the smooth-finish leather, craning my head out the open window just enough to get a good shout across and I screamed as loudly as the rapidly building pressure would allow, but once again my efforts were futile.
Another minute, now five since I first stared down the crimson cyclops - FIVE minutes at a red light - before at last I was granted passage as everyone finally moved along. Taking their sweet time, of course. I took the left, screeching into the Porsche customer parking lot. The engine stayed on and the keys stayed in, I didn’t even close the door behind me. There was no time. The car was the least of my concerns at that point, there was only one thing on my mind.
Shoulder-barging through the glass doors, it’s as if my vision became tunneled as I focused in on that bright shining door located at the far wall emblazoned with the sign identifying it as a toilet. And only a little bit past two rows of Porsche’s that were only slightly better than mine, I was so close. An audible grunt escaped my pursed lips. As I rushed past the reception desk, something grabbed me. It was Gina. Fucking Gina.
“Mr Kleinfeld? Hi! Lovely to see you again! There aren’t any problems with the car, are there?” She looked concerned on the surface but only about as far as it might affect her status as the dealership’s top salesperson that month.
“What?!” I caught myself before I let slip just how much pain I was in, confused as to why I wasn’t just making a break for it. “Oh? No it’s… it’s amazing. Fantastic, even. It’s just… the thing is…”
Gina raised an eyebrow behind her thick hipster glasses. Functional, yet chic. Now appearing sincerely concerned.
“CAN I USE YOUR BATHROOM!?” The words piled out fast and hard in more of a shriek than a polite request. Gina took a small surprised step back before replying apologetically,
“I’m so sorry, but it’ll be closed until at least Five. We’ve had a plumbing issue this morning a-“
My bodily functions erupted loudly against my will, interrupting the dealership’s most enterprising saleswoman midsentence as a fetid smell akin to what I imagine a genocide reeks like filled the spacious area, floor to ceiling, within seconds. I stood there in shock, as did Gina. We maintained an uncomfortable mutual stare for a moment before my feet automatically began backing away; unconsciously desperate to escape the nightmare on my stunned behalf.
Others began to correlate the stench with my shuffling presence and two or three pointed in my direction, outing my soiled situation to their small groups of co-workers.
“Don’t look at me!” I yelled as involuntarily as I’d emptied my bowels as I crossed the threshold back into the lot, my shrill echo booming as everyone who hadn’t previously noticed my embarrassment did then at that exact moment. My mind was racing, while also simultaneously completely blank in an odd mix of trauma, shame, panic and despair. My reputation, tarnished in the blink of an eye like my work slacks.
I got to my still open and blinking Porsche, removed the bottom half of my attire and dumped it all right there beside me on the ground, socks included. They were someone else’s problem now. With a quick wipe using the discarded clothing I hopped back inside and sped away from the scene, the smell haunting me the whole way like the memory of that day will haunt my every waking moment forever.
An hour’s drive home later and I was sitting outside my house afraid to go inside. I didn’t tell my wife what happened to me when she greeted me at the front door, balls out, instead storming upstairs to hide in the shower, opting for the inevitable rumor mill to do the job instead. We never spoke of it, ever. I never spoke about much of anything after that…