I've mentioned a couple of times that I became a lifelong Swami fan after reading her 2002 entry in the Story Competition over at the other place. I laughed so hard the day I read this and it stuck with me for weeks and I'd find myself giggling just thinking about it.
With Swami's permission, here is her story...
**Just a note before I begin my story. After following Spoilers & Bashers thru most of S3, I finally scrolled down to the bottom of the lobby, past Mole & Love Cruise topics (which shows I didn't watch), and found two more message boards I'd been missing! Gol-darn!! I feel really stupid, but at least I finally found them.
***Okay, one more note before I start. This story has a high gross-out factor. I would give it 5 out of 5 yucky faces. If vomit & diarrhea disgust you, read no further. If you choose to read on, you will laugh, you will gag, you will reach for that back button--but it is all true, I swear!
The Convenience Store Incident
Some years ago, my husband Tom and I took a quick driving vacation up to Lake Superior. We got a room just yards from the crashing waves of that greatest of the Great Lakes, and had a wonderful, romantic week-end. On our last morning there, before starting the long drive home, we went into a little restaurant in town and had the big Lumberjack Breakfast Special. As you know, calories don't count on vacation and besides after eating that much we wouldn't have to stop for lunch anytime soon.
Man it was a great breakfast--pancakes, hash browns, toast, eggs over easy, OJ, coffee--and sausage. The sausage was my undoing. I love sausage, but have zero tolerance for bad meat. I ate one and a half darn sausages before I finally realized that they were (just barely) past prime.
Anyway, I was feeling a little iffy as we jumped into our car and cruised off into the Wisconsin woods. We like to drive back roads instead of freeways (how else to see America?) and soon we were driving through mile after mile of apparently vacant woods. I felt more & more nauseous, and suddenly my gut started twisting and protesting.
"We've gotta stop somewhere," I told my husband. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"The sausage," I replied, swallowing bile. "I need a restroom too."
"Oh God," my husband answered, "We're miles from anywhere!"
Then, like a miracle, we rounded the next curve and there it was--a genuine convenience store, nestled into the woods in the middle of nowhere. My husband pulled up to the gas pump, and I headed inside.
By this time I was totally nauseous, swallowing non-stop, and walking that kind of duck walk you do when your anal sphincters are locked in a despiration, strangulation, death-before-dishonor super-clench.
I somehow made it into the Ladies room. I entered, turned, shut the door, and then vomited explosively on the door. I was stunned by the ferocity of ejection, and stared at the door like an idiot. Then suddenly my anal sphincters gave their last gasp. My gut writhed uncontrolably. I twirled and ran for the can, vomiting a swathe across the wall as I spun around. I barely made it to the toilet.
What to do? I had terrible diarhhea, but I still had to vomit! I managed by sitting sideways on the toilet and rocking up to lean over the sink, which was beside it--but not close enough. It was awkward. I fell into a rhythm of rock-vomit, and sit-s.hit. It almost worked. Okay, I missed the sink now & then. But all things considered, it could have been worse. I never missed the toilet! Yay!
Finally, after who knows how long, I was finished. Wrung out. Drained dry. I sat there--shaky, faint & sweaty--and looked at the mess I had made. It was a collossal mess. An unbelievable, stinking mess. How could one person vomit so much? And onto every surface in the room? Oh God, what to do?
I looked around & spotted a large paper towel dispenser. Saved! I could clean the disgusting mess myself and no one would ever know. So I stood up, flushed, and reached for the paper towels.
One towel came out, then nothing. The dispenser was empty. I looked for toilet paper--nope, all used up, mostly by me. There was no way to clean up the room. Damn, I was going to have to tell the store clerk what I'd done. So I wiped my face with the one towel, threw it on the vomitous floor (what difference did one towel make in that mess?) and left the restroom.
(Before I continue this story, I need to remind my readers that there are in this world people of a certain counter-culture, a tribe, a breed--whatever you care to call them. These strange people live in remote valleys and deep woods all over the country. I call them the Back Woods People. Remember the movie 'Deliverance'? The baddies in that movie were Back Woods People. The BWP are scarey, mean, inbred, wierd as hell, and not to be taken lightly. Okay, now on with the story.)
I left the restroom, trying to appear courteous, kind, concerned, helpful. Ready to do my duty, confess and then clean up my mess. But one look at the store clerk stopped me in my tracks.
This twenty-something guy was not a regular person. He had a wierd amateur tattoo scrawled down one arm. His face was set in a twisty sneer because of a rough edged scar beginning at the corner of his mouth and continuing into his cheek. Like he'd had his mouth ripped open in fight and then never saw a doctor to get stitches. He was dirty. He had a big hunting knife straped on his belt. He was one of the Back Woods People, Wisconsin branch! Awww s.hit.
I stood with my mouth open. He swivelled his ratty little eyes in my direction & laid them on me. My anal sphincter gave way. If I'd had anything left inside me to release, I would have disgraced myself right then and there. Instead I ran. Outside, to where my husband--done gassing up long ago--waited for me, leaning on the hood of the car.
"We gotta get out of here - quick!" I exclaimed as the convenience door swung shut behind me.
Bless his heart, my husband didn't hesitate or ask any dumb questions. He just jumped and moved it. By the time I had my car door open the engine was running. He was pulling away even before I had both feet in the car. I looked over my shoulder and saw the freak clerk come running out of the store, both hands fisted.
Tom saw him too.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Is it something I should know about?"
"Well, I kind of made a mess. In the bathroom. You know. All over the bathroom. That guy might be mad."
"Okay," Tom answered, and speeded up even more.
End of story. We made it home without any further events. But I have always wondered, what is there in my husbands past, that he was so quick and unhesitating as we made out getaway? I even asked him once, but he just laughed & changed the topic. I still wonder about him sometimes... And I don't eat sausage on road trips anymore.
Here's the link...