In anticipation of this post, my parents both dug graves, got in, and proceeded to roll. There are some stories better left untold. However, my filter for such things is currently broken, so without further ado: The story of me pooping my pants at work.
The day started in totally normal fashion—feeling good, ready to be productive.
Typically, I spend my day making busy-at-work faces at my monitor. This day was no different. I was somewhere between my morning ritual of reading email and checking my fantasy football team stock portfolio when I felt a run-of-the-mill fart come on. I was expecting a French horn D-flat; you know, a little musical note—but instead I got a silent guy … with what seemed to be moisture?
Me (to self): Uh, I think something awful just happened.
I immediately reached for my coat to wrap around my waist and did the clenched-butt-cheek-shuffle to the bathroom. A bead of sweat formed on my temple. I caught a glimpse of my face before I entered the stall—paper-white.
Me (to myself): Please, Lord, let my butt be dry; and if not, please let it be contained to the body and not my clothing.
God: Sorry buddy. This isn’t the typical emergency I respond to. You’re on your own.
I had pooped my pants. Shit—literally. Code red alert sirens were sounding in my head. A quick bottom-half disrobing confirmed my greatest fear—my costume would need to be changed. Immediately.
I checked my pockets and found no car keys. Fuck! I would need to go back to the office before making my escape to my house to address my wardrobe malfunction. I returned to my desk as casually as possible, waited five seconds, then pulled out my phone and began an urgent and totally fake conversation.
Me (to no one, and at high volume): You’ve got be kidding me! Are you serious? OK, I’ll be right home.
Office guy: Is everything ok?
Me: Yeah. I mean no. I’ve gotta run. I’ll be back soon. Just a shit I need to deal with. SOME shit. Just some shit I need to deal with. I’ll be back soon.
I awkwardly speed-walked to my car and drove home. It was a strenuous drive, partially squatting (much like I imagine girls do in porta-potties) so as not to jeopardize my car seat. Fifteen minutes later with thighs all aquiver, I arrived at my house. And then I remembered the nanny was going to be there. F-bomb again! How was I going to explain this away?
Me: Hey nanny—I’ve got to change clothes real quick. Important meeting I forgot. You should go to the park.
Nanny: We were on our way out.
Me: Why are you looking at me like that?
Nanny: ?
Me: Just kidding—you look normal. I like to make awkward jokes. Have fun at the park. Seriously—you guys should go now.
Nanny: Just going to pack a snack and go.
Me: Unnecessary. She’s looking pretty well fed. If anything, she’s getting a little fat. Just go. JUST GO. And have fuuuuun!
They left and I got down to stripping. I didn’t even bother to try to save my clothes—they hit the trash, and I showered and got dressed again. I replaced my gray corduroys with gray jeans so as not to draw attention to myself. I’m pretty much a shit-on-yourself genius.
I rushed back to the office. Crisis averted, lesson learned. No fart is innocent. A zero-tolerance policy was implemented: The remainder of the day would be fart-free. And then, it happened again. An immediate butt clench came half a second too late. A quick pelvis thrust attempted to spare my gray jeans of the same fate my cords had just suffered—again, to no avail.
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?
At this point, I’m reevaluating my life. God is doing this to me. Why has he forsaken me? What did I do to deserve this? I announced a sudden onset of the flu, wrapped a jacket around my waist, averted my eyes and shuffled out of the office.
I can’t explain the medical situation I’d encountered. I was symptom-free (aside from the obvious) and yet I was experiencing the single worst ailment of all time. Ever.
When my wife got home I detailed the day’s events.
Me: I know this will limit my sex-having ability for some time to come, but I can’t stop pooping on myself.
Wife (dumbfounded): Poop-ing? As in multiple times? Did you eat something?
Me: Regular food. I have no explanation. I think I’m being punished for being so handsome.
Wife: I want to feel bad for you … but I don’t. I mean, seriously. Stephen. You’re an adult.
Me: Don’t judge me. I videotaped your birth, Miss I-Live-In-A-Glass-House.
Wife: There are a lot of things you could have just said. That might not have been your best choice. I’d like to send you to the couch for the night, but I’m not sure that would be a very prudent decision. That couch was expensive.
With jeans in short supply I went to sweats. Had a glass of water, had another … accident.
I slept on a towel that night. In the bathroom.
Next day? Totally fine. The entire event remains a mystery. I guess it could have been worse. But, let’s be real – who hasn’t experienced this EXACT same experience?
<silence>
No one?
Liars.
-The Rotten Avocado.
bigavocado 
Best post yet. And I have a story for you.
Can’t Wait (Bart Scott voice).
Wow! If you need some new jeans let me know! 🙂
I need some new jeans.
What? No picture with days post? How boring!
I wasn’t sure how to appropriately put image to this collection of words. Advice?
Marie’s face when you told her.
Sorry, dude. On this one, you are on your own.
That’s my story & I’m sticking to it.
I don’t blame you at all.
Thanks for reading dude.
I’m forwarding this to a few guys I know 🙂 Great story!!
Well thank you so very much.
It’s funny now, however that day…not so much.
Maybe you ate some oily fish and had anal leakage? Describe the consistency of the accident… *licks pencil tip, takes out notepad*
Also, I have a problem with taking things literally, and I got stuck on the first paragraph wondering why your parents were rolling around in graves. “Is that what you do, to like, test out the size? Hmm. I never knew that. Seems morbid, but ok.”
Oily, not very sexy, incredibly unpredictable. Did not smell like popcorn butter…*winky face*
Diagnosis?
Oh, and there’s nothing worse than being stuck in an undersized grave -so yeah. Duh.
Anal leakage, my friend. Boom.
So the symptom and the prognosis are the same? Anal leakage resulting in anal leakage.
I totally could be a doctor.
yes, as expected, I am disturbed.
You need more fiber in your diet. Also, between stripping and showering, there should have been some insurance-pooping going on. Clear it out, Steve. I’ve been in, let’s say, similar situations, and I truly believe the accidental poop-fart smells exponentially worse than either poop or a bad fart. It’s poop + fart + embarrassment, which equals a smell the rivals death.
Good post buddy!
I wasn’t really in control of the pooping. Insurance amounted to towels and extra pairs of pants. It was a booty revolt.
cuz-
never trust a fart. Eat more cheese and less fiber.
Well, I think you’re damn brave. AND I not only have a story, I’m going to share it because I’m not going to be one of those guys up there^^^. I used to take the bus and I lived waaay out on the outskirts. One day picking my kid up from daycare, I had to pee bad. It just got worse as I walked the 1/2 mile from the busstop to the daycare. It was clench, hurry to the bathroom, slow down so you can hold it, clench stand a breath…You can do it. Then I lost it in front of this driveway full of barbequers, and it wasn’t just a bit like when you laugh; the whole thing let go. I had to then walk the rest of the way in my peepee pants, with my puddle on the sidewalk behind me, and into a daycare.
I feel for you man. Also, once while I was shitting in a bush a homeless man propositioned me. See, I know lots about awkward situations.
As much as i love a good pee in your pants story – I have to say, I would very much enjoy hearing about your decision to shit in a bush next to a homeless bachelor.
Yes, anal leakage is both of those things. It’s like the “aloha” of the ass. (*shrug*)
Oh, Melissa, peeing in the pants sucks. I should know because It happened to me. IN HIGH SCHOOL. Not. Cool. As for the poops? Been there, too. Except I had no excuse. I knew it was coming and I just kept on washing dishes. Just one more plate… Oh, shit. For the record, this post had me cracking up. Not at your expense, Avocado.
I’ve neglected WP for quite some time…so glad I came back. I needed a good laugh. You seem to have been busy lately…very funny article. Not something many people would be comfortable admitting to but you pull it off well.
Mmmyeah. Sad to say that I’m breaking the silence on this one. Morning run.
I feel like we should be buddies though. Male humor bloggers who both crap their pants and have kids? We are definitely insta-friends. *gives an awkward, wiping-hand high five*
Also, your stuff’s funny. I’m a fan. (Found you on Steamme’s Facebook page)
A friend with Weed is a friend I need. I bet that’s the first time you’ve heard that – because my brain just made it up. Or maybe it just remembered it. Hmmm.
Regardless – consider the friendship consummated *spits on hand – offers disgusting hand shake*
Put er there partner.
Would it be redundant to say that was shit-yourself funny?
Steve,
somehow i missed this on the first go around. I just literally laughed so hard i wept on Jeff’s fleece which I guess is way better than shitting my pants.
Shitting your pants sucks. Good job avoiding that. I got a present from a buddy for Christmas – spare underwear in a little tin can. People really love me. They really do. And I really love you. Here’s to not shitting yourself in the new year! Mazle Tov!
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just read this entry again and could not stop myself from laughing out loud in my cubicle. Much like how you could not stop yourself from shitting your pants.
My friend T shared a somewhat similar story on what’sapp. Someone commented that at least it did not happen at work because we’re in a pandemic…which reminded me of this day and this blog, and I had to find it. Your shitty day lives on.