On Six Shooter Coffee

One time, after drinking at Six Shooter Coffee in the Waterloo Arts District of Cleveland, I almost shit my pants. I attribute this solely to their ability at crafting a quality caffeinated beverage that unintentionally (?) sends a piledriver to the digestive system. If anything, their product is too good and should come with a warning label for those of us sensitive to peristaltic events.

There I was, meeting with a graphic designer on branding for a new blog idea.  I had ordered a cappuccino prior to the meeting to go over my notes, which under normal circumstances is innocent enough.  I ordered a second once the designer arrived so I could sip smartly while nodding at his ideas, like a grown up.

Just as we were getting to the business end of the discussion, my coffee was getting to the business end of my lower intestines. We still had a few colors to decide on as well as narrow the design down to a few directions.  Sensing a change on the internal barometer, I glanced nonchalantly towards the restroom.  There's only one at Six Shooter Coffee, and it's a single hitter.  Being at the prime coffee fetching hour, at least one person was in line at all times - less than ideal conditions to make anything happen here. Thinking we had 10-15 minutes to go, I estimated that I could conclude this meeting, make the 45-minute drive home, and deal with all of this in the comfort of my own porcelain.

I estimated incorrectly.

About five minutes after settling back into the discussion, I broke out into a sweat.  "Strong coffee here, huh?" I stammered as I wiped my upper lip. We pressed on, and so, too, did the blooming pressure in my lower abdomen. It became so intense that at one point during this professional-ass meeting, I shot up from our table, hoping that straightening out my innards would calm the storm.  And then just stood there.  We exchanged confused looks.  "Sorry...uh, my legs were falling asleep" I gasped as I pointed at one of the designs and asked how he felt about blue. He launched into what I could only assume was color theory, I'm not sure because I was no longer listening.  My entire body was now sweating and shaking slightly.  I couldn't delay my departure another minute.

"Listen, Robert, whatever color scheme you think is fine."
"...But I mean, this is your brand, this should really spea-"
"WHATEVER YOU THINK IS FINE.  I... have to bounce to another meeting so just send me some options, I trust you completely!"

I grabbed my bag and penguin-walked out the door.  The pain was excruciating, but the fresh air seemed to calm things a bit, and after three dragon breaths at the car, hope was restored.  I climbed in and buckled up, I just might be able to make it home yet!

Wrong again.

No sooner had I pulled onto I-90, prepared to spirit home, than did things take a turn.  An invisible, crushing hold was on me, like a toddler squeezing a toothpaste tube, and that cap ain't on there too tightly.  My plans must change to accommodate the new timeline so I took the next exit, expecting to find a gas station or McDonald's, like at any other on/off ramp in this city.  Alas, in my haste I took an exit to an industrial area,  walls of buildings with no public access and lines of blighted others met me and my speeding Honda Element.  It was here I began to panic.  I had already unbuttoned my pants and pushed my seat back, hoping to offer some relief. My shirt was soaked through.

"It was only cappuccino..." I whispered to God.

I slowed the car down to a stop after realizing the empty street only had empty industrial buildings as far as the eye could see.  I texted my husband.

[I might have to shit in the Honda]
[What?]
[I can't find a bathroom and its a super emergency]
[Like no bathrooms anywhere?]
[What do I do]
[How is there not a gas station where are you?]
[Do we have dog doo bags in here]

A seizure of pain wracked my body and I gripped the steering wheel until it passed.  I had mere minutes, I could not hold the gates much longer.  I moved the car forward to find a discrete place to die.

BUT THEN.

On the horizon.  The world's tiniest Subway was attached to an abandoned strip of stores.

Lights on.
Open.

On two wheels, I pulled the Element in. I opened the door and stood up, almost immediately doubling over with pain.  It was here I almost lost the war, how cruel to be so close. Somehow, someway, the contraction ebbed.  I straightened, and slowly made my way inside, giddy with relief.

This Subway did not have restrooms in the seating area.
Any.
At.
All.

It had a drink machine, a small cooler with bottles, a sandwich makin' counter, and a western style door leading to the back of the house. Tears welled in my eyes as a young woman made her way from the back to the counter.  I limped to the cooler and grabbed a Sprite, then limped to the register.

"OnespritepleasemayIuseyourbathroom?"

She looked scared.  I looked ill. Pale, sweaty and resembling someone coming off hard drugs, I threw a wadded and moist $5 bill on the counter.  We both knew I wasn't really asking.

"S-sure - just back there.."

I turned, took a labored breath, and began the extremely slow walk to the broom closet/employee bathroom where I would be baptized by fire, for it was by the divine love of the infant Christ that I did not shit my pants in front of this scared stranger.

And so concludes the second worst bathroom emergency of my life.

The Ol' Shit-and-Run

To the gentleman who shit on the wall at the winery in which I work:

It's not THAT you shit, or that you shit on the wall, the floor, and sent a nuclear bomb to our plumbing that came up through the urinal. No, no, I actually found the feat itself rather impressive and mildly amusing in a twisted sort of way.

It's that you knew.

You knew the evil you were impregnated with and you knew we only have ANCIENT one-seater bathrooms with a line 15 people deep at any given moment. And yet you stood in that line, defiant, massaging your lower abdomen with noticeable flop sweat. We locked eyes on my way up the stairs because I know the signs. And I thought, "is this joker REALLY about to destroy that bathroom?" And in that moment, you smirked. And when the old woman scrambled up the stairs wide-eyed, pale, stammering about the bathroom being flooded, I knew exactly what happened. And goodness knows I've been there. I've abused food in such a way that has left me cold, shivering, naked on a restroom floor begging for the sweet embrace of death. But given a 20-minute leeway, such that you had, I would have chosen the vineyard over a one stall bathroom in a winery that was a former church.

Jesus saw what you did... next time leave a 20 spot on the can, you soulless monster.

On Rural Half Marathons

At some point in my life, I was decent at running.  Not qualifying for Boston or anything, but I could squeak out 9 or 10 minute miles for long distances.  The day I hit 16 miles on a trail behind good old Kent State University I decided it was time to take my talents on the road.  I searched the interwebs for upcoming races, and lo, in a few weeks, there was one in Wooster, Ohio. This was rather convenient because my crush at the time was from Wooster, Ohio.  Geography Tom.  *Sigh*

Geography Tom was a kid I sat next to in, shocker, geography class.  It was one of the undergraduate requirements so they had several sections and stuffed as many scholars into the lecture halls as possible.

Of all the geography sections in all the campus, you had to come walkin' into mine.

He was a tall drink of water and made fun of the meathead wrestler in front of us.  After much low key flirting, we eventually exchanged AIM screen-names towards the end of the semester (WHICH WAS A BIG DEAL REMEMBER? IT WAS BASICALLY A PHONE NUMBER), class ended and so, too, my crush. Or so I thought.  One random night I messaged him on AIM asking if he knew of any parties because YAWN I sure was bored.  An hour later I was at his friend's apartment hearing Wonderwall for the first time. The beer pong game stopped so everyone could sing along.
I.
Was.
STARSTRUCK.
Everyone was belting this tune out, and that song was so good! I couldn't wait to add it to a mix CD later.  *Side note, Wonderwall came out in 1995.  This was 2004ish.  I MISSED HEARING ONE OF THE MOST OVERPLAYED SONGS OF THE 90s UNTIL I WAS A SOPHOMORE IN COLLEGE A DECADE LATER. This unfolded before me in an embarrassing way, but that tale is for another time.* In that moment, it was magic, and I thought the divine was pointing me towards his beer-bonging direction.

So, there I was, signing up for my first half marathon in Wooster, Ohio. Wooster is a fairly rural area where the local demographic is about 99% white farmer.  I should have known not many people would show up to a half-marathon in rural Ohio.

*foreshadow*

I planned and plotted, picked out a super cute running outfit (and did NOT wear it for a test drive beforehand because I wanted it to be perfect and cute the day of!  JFC) and slowly dropped hints on AIM as to my plans that I'd be in the area of his hometown where he happened to live during the summer, and I just so happened to be running a local half.  Oh, you ran track?  How neat! Oh!  That'd be great if I can couch surf because I have to be up SO early for the run, and why YES let's hang the night before, such a good idea. After printing out directions from mapquest, I was off to GLORY.

And in all honesty, that night was amazing.  We grabbed dinner at Crapplebees, played mini golf, drove around back country roads listening to Crossfade in his CJ7 with the roof off...  It was a perfect early 2000s summer evening by all accounts.

Then came race morning.  I guess things started ok.  I looked super cute when he dropped me off at the church where the race was starting and ending.  I checked in and told him I'd see him when I crossed the finish, then noticed there weren't that many people on the list...and they all seemed to be part of local running clubs. Huh.  No matter, I put on my headphones and got in place behind the starting timer.

And we were off!  Cruising right along....at quite a clip...jeeze they weren't messing around... but that's ok, I had some Britney on the mp3 and after a few clicks to skip the songs, it died.  Completely. Shit. Its. Pants. and I am not a runner that can run to the sound of her own thighs slapping together.  Speaking of, those super cute shorts DID let my thighs slap together, and I was getting a super huge welt between them. Within the first mile the entire group pulled ahead of me.

There I was, dead last in a half that was clearly just a training run for some Boston bound running clubs in rural Ohio.  And my heart's freaking delight was waiting for me at the finish line, where, at this rate, I would surely roll in an hour after the gazelles.   I tried to pick it up and made it to mile 8 before realizing this was about to be humiliating.  When the support van pulled up, I waved the white flag of defeat.  I sat stone faced in the back as I traveled with them to pick up the road cones and water stations.  I'd have to fake an injury...sprained ankle? ...heat stroke?

We pulled into the church just as the middle of the pack runners were coming down the road. Only we didn't pull to the side parking lot where the timer was or the cars and crowd had gathered .  WE PULLED INTO THE FRONT WHERE NO ONE WAS OR COULD SEE ME EXIT THE MEAT WAGON.  #blessed

"THANKSVERYMUCH" I yelled to the road crew and ran into the church.  Runners that had already finished were getting their post-race banana and water bottle.    I, too, grabbed the post race banana (a sure sign of race completion) along with all my shit and walked straight out of there and to Geography Tom's truck.  He was reading a newspaper when I knocked on his window.

"Hey!"  I said.

He startled.  "Holy shit - I didn't think you'd be done so soon."  He looked at the radio clock on the dash. "DAMN you made great time!  I'm sorry I missed you finishing....Geeze I didn't know you were such a runner.  I'd love to run a race with you sometime - let me know about the next one!"

"Sure, sure" I said.  "If you can keep up."

I know this face-saving opportunity was a gift from heaven, and I lied my tiny running shorts off taking advantage of it.  Sorry, Jesus.

And Geo Tom, if you ever read this, uh....well you might think this was all a little stalker-ish.  And you might be right.  But you were so cool! And I felt so dorky in comparison, and in my efforts to play it chill, my perfectly orchestrated plan fell apart. If I had to do it all over again.... I'd still do the same fucking thing.  :)

I had a blast, and hope you did, too.