Fear and Loathing

Gather 'round, children, and hear the account of my most humble moment on planet earth:  the time I almost shit my pants in the Las Vegas desert.

We've all been there, right?  On vaca, away from home for an extended period. Lotta rich foods, lotta drinking and ZERO regard for your own well-being. Fuck getting enough fiber and sleep. Add the time zone difference from East to West coast and you've got the favorable atmospheric conditions for some plumbing issues.

There I was, Las Vegas, circa 2009.  Me, honey-bro and another couple decided to hit Vegas for a week. In retrospect, I'd like to state that this decision was mistake #1. Allowing my delicate body, one that was only used to a temperate deciduous forest climate and bland foods, to suddenly be thrust into the alcohol soaked sand for more than 2.5 days was an act of hubris.

Mistake #2.  I was trying to "eat my money's worth" at every buffet in Vegas.  I am a human trash pile from blue collar upstate New York.  The fact that I was paying over $30 a whack at each meal was COM. PLETE. bullshit. Hell no, Mr. Casino.  I am tucking in.  The house was gonna lose on this girl.

(Oh, younger Amanda.  You were a purer soul then.)

Flash forward to day 5.  I wasn't ill, per se, but not feeling tip-top, that's for sure.  And there was a sense of foreboding...when you see a certain volume going in, and none coming back out for several days, it can leave one feeling a bit concerned.  But the trip was coming to a close, this was our final night out, and I figured worst case there'd be a few colorful days upon my return to Boston, but that I'd be no worse for wear.

With the clarity of hindsight, I can now see the series of unfortunate events that unfolded:

• For our final dinner out, we decided to go exploring, eventually winding up about a mile off The Strip from our hotel. 
• I remember ordering the veggie burger, you know, to be safe. With that false sense of security, I crammed that mf-er into my pie hole with abandon.  
• Since it was a beautiful night, we decided to walk the mile back rather than taking a cab.
• The route we took back was not populated.  We were walking in the middle of some area that was about to be developed. The bulldozers and bucket trucks were empty and left in the dirt, our only company on the trek back.

It started fine enough.  The desert air that night was refreshing.  I was amongst good friends and the love of my life.  I filled my lungs and...started sweating.  Like, a lot. Surely from the desert heat. We marched on.

"Guys...uh...how much farther do we have left?"

I felt a slight tug. I knew I'd have to make a deposit soon, but there'd be time to make it to our hotel and handle this discretely. 15 more minutes, max.  Nothing to worry about, just make sure to head right to the room when we got back.  No problem.

My pace slowed and I started to fall behind.  What didn't slow was my heart rate. The tug was becoming more of a kick. And it was kicking at 2-minute intervals and falling.  

"Heh...maybe we should uhm...*gasp* call a cab?"

"What?  We're over halfway there now we might as well finish and save some cash."

The kicks, now at 1-minute contractions, suddenly turned to stabs.  I doubled over.

"Woah...you ok?"

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfffine... heh...just *burp* ..yikes...cramping for some reason..." I stood back up and mopped at my flop sweat with my sleeve.  

"You don't look good at all..."

The next wave of pain sent me almost to my knees.  "Just,...ah...just keep walking guys, I gotta like... figure this out..."

Of course, they didn't keep walking, but were now concerned and audience to quite a spectacle.  

"I need to find a place to stop" I finally admitted, putting away my pride.

"Stop? What do you mean stop...we're in the middle of a construction zone." complained my love.

"I. Need. A. Bathroom." I growled.

"Oh....but there's literally nothing out here..."  he offered helpfully.

"................"

When the pain eased, I limped forward for a while. It was here I began weighing my options. The reality was setting in, I could barely walk, and could clearly not make it back to the hotel with my deteriorating condition.  The group, at this point, was unaware of how serious my situation was.  The intestines were preparing for an emergency evacuation. I had thrown the dice at dinner, and they just turned up snake eyes.

Panicked, I whirled around, looking for something, ANYTHING, for privacy and shelter. An excavator creaked in the wind.

"I...uhm...might have to...go over there for a minute".  Another lie, for the coming tide would not be "over" in a "minute".  My love was now at the correct level of concern.

"Oh...ohmygod....no....no!  Let's keep walking...keep moving don't stop!"

What happened next is one of the few reasons I believe God hasn't abandoned us.  As if appearing from a mirage, a small casino came into vision.  In the middle of nowhere.  And in brightly lit gold letters, flashed "GOLD NUGGET CASINO".  Was this a fever dream?  A joke from the universe?  No matter.  The sight gave me the burst of energy I needed to finish my zombie walk to their door.  Once inside, we were met with the usual punch-in-the-face of light and noise from the slot machines.  Overwhelmed by sensations both internal and external, I bumped into a waitress as I whirled around, trying to orient myself.  My pupils were dilated. I was sweating out food smells.

"Ugh...bathrooms are back there" she said as she nodded her head towards the back and stepped away from me.  I lurched forward and entered the women's room.  It was ENORMOUS.  At least 20 stalls in a long, bowling alley type row, and it appeared no one was in here. I flew into a stall and got to work, hoping to be as efficient as possible and not humiliate myself anymore than I already had.  We had an early flight and everyone needed to get to bed.

Sigh.

As things initiated, my earlier prediction was realized. This would not be quick, nor efficient. The pain: overwhelming. The sweat: unyielding.  I got so sick, I TOOK OFF MY CLOTHES.  LIKE A TODDLER.  I was in the middle of Las Vegas, bare ass naked, sweating, shaking, and on the brink of unconsciousness.  Is this what Elvis felt like in the final moments?

I pressed on.  Quite literally.

My friend texted me at this point as we were pushing about 45 minutes into the ordeal.
Jenn: [Do you need me to come in there?]
Me: [MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT COME IN HERE]
Jenn: [OK but...are you OK?]
Me: [YES.  NO.  I NEED MORE TIME. DON'T COME FOR ME]

Things were still progressing at an alarming rate.  The volume, had I not been so scared for my life, would have impressed me.  I had to take a breather and reassess the surroundings.  Kicking my shorn clothes to the front of the stall, I turned to face my reality.  And the reality was, we needed to reset the playing field.  I gave the porcelain a flush.  It chugged.  It sputtered.  It went down then came right back up.

Wide-eyed in horror, I grabbed my clothes off the floor, opened the door, and ran across the aisle to another stall.  Reminder:  I'm still 200% naked. If there was someone else in the bathroom to behold the pitiful failure of a woman barrel rolling from one stall to another with an armful of her clothes while one toilet overflowed in her wake, I would not know.  Pain seized my body again, and I didn't have time to mourn the loss of humanity left behind.  The second half was about to start.

After an hour and a half, I emerged.  My clothes were soaked.  I was pale.  My hair was drenched and pulled to the top of my head in a matted bun, chunks falling out around my face.  I informed my group that we would be taking a cab and that I estimated I had about 15 minutes to get to the hotel.

The rest of the night was spent on a moist pile of week old towels in the bathroom, cramping, crying, praying.  There was nothing left to give, but my body tried anyways, for HOURS.  With the light of dawn, my love creaked open the door to my sick den.

"Hey.....so, um..we have a flight in a few hours?"
I looked up from my towel pile with the expression of a rabid raccoon.
"I NEED YOU TO GO FIND IMODIUM"
"Will that help, or...I mean you still need to pack..."
"I AM NOT FLYING IF I CAN'T STOP SHITTING."
"Right! OK...Imodium..."

I am happy to report we were able to catch our flight.  It was the scariest plane ride I've ever had to take, every bump of turbulence had me conducting a body scan.  I was popping Imodium like pez.

They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and proving that theory, QUITE a bit of me stayed. 

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.