This happened on 10/11.

The best man at my wedding George has the best sphincter control of anybody I’ve known. He drove across the United Stated (horizontally) and didn’t unload the whole way. He also made me paranoid about having to drop a deuce on a public toilet.

I’m a germaphobe to begin with. I don’t trust a hotel room, knowing what I’ve done in them and listening to other peoples stories also. When George was a motel manager, he’d wait until the maid cleaned the rooms and put a clean paper ribbon over the toilet seat. He took the master key and slid off the ribbon, took a shit and then put it back on.

So I’m in the gym today. It’s bad enough already as you are trying to work out and I live in a college town. That means the girls come in to work out in the fuck me shorts all decked out in nips and lips, prancing about. They show off the goods and preen in front of the mirror wearing a ponytail holder on their wrist. God forbid if one of the guys looks, then the whole gym creep thing comes out. I won’t stare because that is what they want. One girl came by this day in the see through lime green sherbet outfit 2 sizes too small and I had to do a double take to see if she was black or white. She’d spent so much time on the tanning bed she could have been either, but that makes her white. Please.

The opposite is also true. There are some that need to be at the gym because they need to lose weight and get in shape. I applaud them for doing something about it, but I am trying not to look at them either. It’s because they are trying to wear the same thing the hot girls wear and it’s not working for covering that much mass. I looked up and almost had my face in a cottage cheese barrel.

It used to be that the gym was just guys in sweat clothes would be there. Then, Jane Fonda let in all the girls and taught them take more and more off. At first,the A/C would make it nippy, but now they wearing body paint skin suits that don’t cover a thing. You know by looking whether you are ordering a #3 roast beef combo or a peach fuzz smoothy without trying. They then proceed to push their cookie up in the air like they were doing upside down doggie and we have to act like we don’t notice. They entice you to look and then get mad if you do.

Anyway, why I wrote this.

I was doing legs today. I work out in the afternoon when the traffic is light so you don’t have to wait for a machine you want to use. I do all my sports page reading business first thing in the morning so it never crossed my mind that I’d have to take a dump. It never happens past mid-morning. I felt a rumbling in my stomach and thought it couldn’t be. I was hoping for a fart and it would pass.

So I’m listening to music during hamstring curls thinking that I could move around some air and the crisis would pass. Wouldn’t you know that the song that played was Should I stay or should I go by the Clash.

I’m in a complete dilemma now as I’d just gotten there and didn’t want to leave, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. I let it go one too many leg curls until I knew I was in trouble.

Having to go on a public toilet is as much a torture thought for me as dropping the soap in the shower in jail. I didn’t have time to be able leave to find the most expensive store nearby as they usually have the cleanest bathrooms according to George.

I realized it was going to happen and I couldn’t stop it. The train was leaving the station. I grabbed the disinfecting wipes for the gym equipment and made my way to the locker room. I’m in there 4 times a week and every time I see legs in the stall with some guy laying rope. I think how disgusting that is using a public can. A bunch of sweaty MF all shitting on the same toilet. I don’t know how girls do it.

I usually go for the cripple stool as is it is less used than the regular stall. It was out of order, so I have to go on one that has been destroyed since midnight as this is a 24 hour gym.

Well, I scrubbed down the seat, then papered it like the second coming of the Mummy and all hell broke loose. You’d think I’d taken the colonoscopy medicine.

I don’t even like going on a can that others use at home and have my own bathroom I call home base. It has a bidet built in so that if I don’t get a clean break, I can get the old Japanese wash and blow dry from my seat.

My fear at the gym was that I’d have to use the whisper thin paper that doubles as a cheese grader that this was going to happen.

I didn’t even run out of toilet paper during Covid because I use the bidet seat so my bung hole has gone back to virginity. TP wiping is something I don’t do anymore.

There was someone in the bathrooms while this was going on, but I didn’t care as your rarely see the same people. It turned out to be Fred the maintenance man. Fred is there every time I’m at the gym. He is kind of like a rain man about cleaning and walked in as soon as I walked out. It was a WWIII destruction zone and I’m going to see Fred again the next time I’m there. I’ll bet he wishes he wasn’t there.

It was a terrible experience, having to open the Bombay doors somewhere other than on home base. I came home and showered, but felt violated that I had to sacrifice my standards because my stomach wouldn’t give me fair warning before I left.