This is a story that is too good not to share. I'm going to keep the real identity of the Pot Roast Pooper (subsequently referred to as PRP) anonymous, and that doesn't mean this is about me. Trust me when i say i would never ever admit to anything of the sorts that i am about to unravel in the event that said events happened to me.
First of all, I'm going to Quentin Tarantino this story and start with the best part of the story, which is the end. This story ends with the PRP pooping in her hands. Yes. Her hands. Yes, I said poop. Imagine taking a big ole crapper right in the palm of your very own hands. Maybe it's my sick sense of humor that finds this unbelievably hilarious, but the events leading up to it explain the hilariousness of it all.
"SHIT! I think i just did something really bad!" These are words one can expect to hear from someone who lacks a garbage disposal and for whatever reason felt throwing it in the garbage wasn't an option. Yes, we all know of people who dump soup down the toilet. I've never been one of them because I've always lived with a garbage disposal. Soup is explainable. Too chunky for the sink, yet too runny for the garbage. But i ask you this... What about a Pot Roast? The PRP will defend herself and say she was distracted while talking on the phone with her mom, subconsciously following the motions of dumping soup down the toilet. Except this time it was a pot roast. So obviously, the words "SHIT! I think i just did something really bad," came out during the swirling of the flushing mechanism once chunks of potatoes, carrots, and pot roast flushed down the pipes, making the most ugliest gurgling sound one could probably only imagine.
What happens next probably isn't a surprise. The toilet broke. What does this mean when you live in a one bedroom one bathroom apartment and your toilet is broke? You can't go to the bathroom. Luckily for the PRP, she works all day and can relieve herself at work.... Or can she? Nobody likes to poop in public, let alone at work where you're doomed to have one of your fellow office mates walk in mid splash and notice your very distinguishable Keen sandals and identify you as the culprit of the sudden stench occupying the bathroom.
Four days later is when the story gets even better.
Fresh off a one night stand where there were fireworks, the PRP found herself in a new relationship. New relationships are great, especially the time in your relationship where you can't even fathom farting in front of him, let alone excusing yourself to politely take a dump with him waiting in the other room. Making his first official weekend stay, the PRP nervously was ignoring the persistent cramps from going 4 days sans bowel movement. According to her, the maintenance guy had came to check things out, said he needed a part of some kind, and was still working on it. With her not wanting to fess up to her pot roast flushing mistake, he wasn't really sure what the problem was. She had needed to poop for 4 days now, but just could not bear to do it in public. So one can only imagine where the moment of holding it in meets the moment where you lose all bowel containing abilities. Which brings me to the first part of our story, where the PRP undeniably pooped into her hands.
Let me present to you other options besides pooping in your hands:
1- You could....Poop in the trash.
2- You could....Run to the store and use a public restroom.. god forbid..
3- You could....Run through a list of all other possible options and execute them, whatever it is, rather than pooping in your hands.
Let me illustrate this fine conversation when i questioned her with the questions that are probably plaguing your thoughts right now at this point during this not so mother goose story:
Me: Why didn't you just poop in the trash?!?!"
PRP: I thought about that, but then i realized I'd have to walk the trash out past him.
Me: So, you could just say you were taking the trash out!
PRP: But i had just changed the trash.
Me: (sarcastically) So your obvious choice then was to poop into your hands?
PRP: I grabbed a Chinese takeout box. I figured I'd put the poop in there, and then walk it out to the garbage.
Me: So you'd walk a small take out box full of shit past him but you won't take the garbage out in front of him? WTF!
PRP: I felt as though the take out box was less conspicious.
Me: Why not just poop right into the takeout box then?
PRP: What if i missed or it got on the edges?
Me: So why not poop into a plastic bag and put the plastic bag into the takeout box?
Silence.... Apparently she didn't think of this.
And the best part, is that after she pooped into her hands she realized she needed a free hand to grab toilet paper and wipe. She didn't narrate this portion of the story, and I'm glad, because even had she, i doubt I'd blog about it.
Someday, if i'm lucky enough, i'll have a follow up blog where maybe i can enlist her as a guest blogger to retell her story in the first person narrative, as the way she tells this story is H.I.L.A.R.I.O.U.S.!
I Love my friends :)