A Movement… But not the kind you think. (By: Yousaf)

I have not written in a lomg while and much has happened in my life but I thought I would start writing again with a piece about an interesting experience.  It is a slightly crude post so if you are easily offended by childish humor, this post is probably not for you 🙂

Defeat – An Exaggerated but True Story

‘Gurgle… GURGLE! Gur—gle’

My bowels were speaking to me, ‘What did you put in me fool! Whatever it was, you about to pay!’

I was in lecture.  I was relentlessly squirming in my chair, somehow believing that movement would halt the coming storm.  My classmate looked at me out of the corner of her eye with concern as drops of sweat began to make my forehead glisten.  Another wave of peristaltic fury moved towards ’the light’ and I held on for dear life. I coughed… just in case.  No cough has ever muffled the sound of flatus but hey… what’s a brother to do?  Relief came over me as I weathered the blow my colon had tried to deliver. Safe… for now.

Lecture for another 45 minutes followed by clinic for 4 hours and then home sweet home– And by home, I mean the shiny, clean, wondrous toilet that await me.  Has another man ever wished to write poetry of yearning for his throne… I mean lavatory? Well I did.  But today there was no room for a slow motion embrace with my long lost friend. Nope. I was going to have to settle.

A public restroom is everybody’s pet-peeve and a veteran’s home bathroom may be another level of nasty but today was the day. The day I would conquer my fear and make the impossible happen.  Resolve pulsed through my veins, bravery laced every breath of determination and anger sped through my intestinal tract like pacific island tsunamis.  I pushed open the door to my nemesis like a cowboy from an old western, both hands ready to pull the triggers of imaginary weapons hidden in the deep pockets of my white coat. I quickly surveyed the place– two stalls, one sink, dingy tiles, peeling paint and the faint smell of some ancient battle that was responsible for the loss of many lives.  Suddenly a rush of patriotism washed over me.  God Bless America I thought.  I mean, I am in a Veteran’s Home. “Man Up!”

I stretched my hamstrings, took a deep breath , an action which I instantly regretted, as that smell stung my nostrils and it quickly became apparent that it was not of ancient battles but instead of a far less valiant process.  It was time.  I looked into the first stall and gasped in horror.  How can someone miss that bad?  I mean… whoever did this was probably in the army and trained. How can you be an ‘army of one’ if you can’t go number one?

What was behind door number two? A large plastic bag and a small, crumpled paper that read ‘out of order, DO NOT USE!’

“Ha… That’s redundant. Who would use an out of order toilet?”  My stomach answered, “Shut up, sit down and get this over with!”

I looked back at the horrid artwork someone with no conscious had left in stall #1… I removed my white coat, rolled up my sleeves and began the task at hand.  I proceeded to tidy the place up.  Wiped down the joint. Closed my eyes so that I would be blind to the atrocious crimes my hands were partaking in.  Worked tirelessly, all the while feeling like an alien was going to bust through my abdominal wall and sing show tunes (Space Balls reference)-

As I developed experiences worthy of PTSD, I reminded myself of the children… All the children (that doesn’t make sense… nor is it supposed to).  I then carefully ripped 3 appropriately measured strips of the toilet paper so thin that the germs on the toilet rim giggled as I placed them down to cover the seat that awaited me.  No ‘shathafa,’ ‘lota,’ or Wet Ones here so I began to wet pre-prepared quadruple layered strips of paper.  Of course, as always, the closer you get to actually getting to use the bathroom, the more the impulse from you brain erupts, like the sirens at a failing nuclear power plant headed for meltdown.  I was ready. I shut the faucet and turned to my new home for the next 5-45 minutes (just kidding about that).

Then it happened. Some say that life altering events occur when you least expect it.  Others have said that you get only one chance to prove yourself your entire life and at that defining moment, a line is drawn between cowards and the brave… between the men and the boys. It was my time to follow through with my triple dog dare.

As I slowly moved towards my destiny… The door slammed open.  Into view came the man that would change the course of human events forever. Some who witnessed the following events have said that the bathroom smelled of sulfur. That this apparition floated above the ground and that he was not human at all. That he had eyes that could see right into your soul and suck away the happiness from your being.  Some that were there that day have said that the man who joined me in that restroom that fateful day was the devil himself.

Before I could react or even say a word, he had entered the stall.  MY stall! Leaving me outside, mouth agape in crampy agony.  My tongue could not find the words, a lump in my throat, I just stood there. My minutes of hard work… destroyed in seconds. The sounds of a flushing toilet drew me from my coma of disbelief.  Out he came.  For a moment, we stood face to face.  He looked back into the stall from which he came and grunted as if to say, ‘it was mine all along.’ A smirk, a wink and he left the restroom and my life forever.  No answers, no apologies, no remorse, and no washing hands.

I was a man, broken. But something amazing happened in the instant when I faced the nameless jerk who stole my throne and, with it, my dignity:  I didn’t have to go anymore.  My body had been shocked into constipation. I won. I am victorious… or at least… that is what I tell myself.


~ by Yousaf on February 24, 2010.

3 Responses to “A Movement… But not the kind you think. (By: Yousaf)”

  1. I hate this man more than I’ve hated anyone in the entire world. We will make him pay!

  2. LOL, what an experience

  3. great illustration of najassa mashallah 🙂

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