It happens to the best of us.
Like death, shitting your pants is inevitable. Diarrhea knows no race, age, ethnicity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, etc. Shitting is the world’s greatest equalizer. No matter how attractive or famous someone is, they take dumps and have shit their pants at some point in their life. I can sleep well knowing that I share a common bond with JLaw, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Mr. Rogers (RIP). They have all, at some point, soiled their trousers with the napalm of turds.
There is no good time to shit yourself, but among the most devastating is at your place of employment. You’re playing away from home, your toilet comfort level is at an all-time low, and there are no readily available changes of clothes or showers. This revisionist history guide of anecdotal advice will hopefully help you navigate when you’re heading towards home and your pants are full of foam. If there is anything to gain by reading this, when it happens to you, you’ll know you are in good company.
As someone with a moderate case of IBS, I can attest that even the littlest thing can set it off: too many beers, mixtures of dairy and Mexican food or that really spicy wing challenge that you did because friends said, “You won’t do it.” The truth is, Hershey Squirts can attack at any time. It’s unfortunate.
So you’re sitting at your cubicle when the first sign of distress occurs: that stomach rumble. Maybe it stems from your overzealous Sunday Funday. Maybe that greasy sausage McMuffin didn’t agree with you, or maybe it’s something you did in a past life coming at you with some karma payback.
Reality sets in.
You try to let it settle itself, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Stomach cramps follow. You think “maybe it was that foamy latte that has me farty and bloated.” You attempt rationalize, thinking it’s just gas. As a seasoned veteran, I now know that a toilet run has to happen soon. I’ve run a sub 4.40 40-yard dash in business casual to avoid the inevitable. To the first-timer, that pocket of gas becomes a cheek lean and you decide to relieve yourself via fart.
You look around to make sure your fellow cubicle warrior won’t notice. This is a tactical error, and you will soon pay dearly for your gamble. While they may or may not hear you, instead of a relief, you are now left with underwear containing varying levels of warm, wet shit in your pants. If you’re lucky, it’s a small sample, like the smoking mountain top before Mt. St. Helens erupts. From here, you can attempt to discretely maneuver your way to the bathroom, pitch your soiled underwear and hope the cleaning people aren’t doing their jobs right now. If you’re unlucky, you’ve got a load in your pants and it is moving like a hot knife through butter. If you reach Code Red, the STOP method is the best plan of action: Stop, take a breath, observe what is going on in your body and proceed once you’ve done all this. To be honest, you’re screwed.
So take my advice from this column, and bring a spare set of clothes to work. Hide them and have something readily available to spill on your clothes to hide your shame and create a diversion. It’s time to ride the lightning, take the charge or whatever euphemism you’d like because there is no way to get out of being the office pants shitter other than finding a new job. Unlike peeing your pants, crapping your pants does not make you Miles Davis. I know a kid that shit himself in 8th grade and he still hasn’t lived it down. .
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