TMI Thursday: Two for Number Two

So, I've been mulling this over a bit. It's not that I don't have plenty of good, juicy TMI stories. I mean, you've been reading my blog for, what, a couple days now? You realize that there's pretty much nothing about me that says "whoa, too far, I'm not going there."

However, it has occurred to me (read: sunk in through my thick skull) that there are some things most likely better off not said. Mostly these involve times when I've been inside someone, particularly my wife. Along those same lines, since she reads this, I'm sure she doesn't want to know about what I did with my ex-girlfriend in her ancestral bedroom back home while her father was most likely lying in his own bed, hearing us through the walls, and fuming. So, with those types of stories culled from the broad scope of things that I've done in my life that involve bodily functions of one type or another, we're pretty much left with stories about shit.

And, that's what we have today. A shit story. However, I realized that it wasn't all that great of a story, by itself. It's kind of amusing and all, mostly because I'm a dumbass, but it's still nothing grand and glorious. So, I'm giving you two tales of the toilet for the price of one this week.

Oh, don't get too excited. The second one isn't all that great, either.

STORY THE FIRST:

Anyway, about nine months ago, I was at work, calmly synthesizing my little heart out when suddenly I got that heavy feeling 'round back that told me I better find a commode quick or else we'd have a chemical spill of sulfur hydrogen iodine and tellurium. Yes, I know, that's spells "SHITe". Eat me.

So, I strip off my gloves and labcoat and then proceed wander down the way to the sanctum sanctimonium where I spent the next fifteen minutes contemplating what I ate the night before that could produce a smell so pungent and foul that the paint had begun to peel from the walls and the floor tiles slowly curled on themselves. After relieving myself of approximately fifty-three pounds of corn-addled excretia, I turned to behold what I had created. It was anything but good. And worse, with my ass having raised from the seat, I popped the seal over the bowl, and thus I unleashed an unholy and foul nebula into the room that threatened to overwhelm all creatures great and small within a twenty foot radius. Quickly, I wiped, flushed, flushed again, and once more for good measure. With tears streaming down my cheeks from the redolence hanging thick and blue in the air, I washed hastily and dashed from the chamber of secrets, seeking asylum in my office.

It just so happened that mere moments later, a tornado warning was issued for our county.

One of the "severe weather shelters" for our building happens to be...the men's toilet. It also happens to be the nearest shelter for my lab and office suite.

I ran, screaming, from the lab, shoving small children and old women aside. A friend of mine, who worked and sat next to me, made straight for the nearest shelter. I, however, bolted down the hall to one of the back offices, which are also tornado shelters.

A few minutes passed and the tornado warning was lifted. We returned, safely, to our offices and labs. My friend, who had sought refuge in the crapper, asked me, "So, why didn't you come in there with the rest of us?"

Now, honestly, after the tornado rips the building asunder, they're going to look for survivors and corpses among the rubble. Do you really want to be found dead in the privy? No, neither do I. However, I felt this answer would not suffice, nor was it wholly true.

"Well, you see, I know what I did in there twenty minutes before the warning, and I sure as hell wasn't going back in there."

"Ah," said my friend, with a bit of a smile, "well, you'll be glad to know that the smell has cleared...mostly."

STORY THE SECOND:

We had a bit of an odor issue the other day at work.

And, no, smart guy, it wasn't me.

It was a chemical. Somehow, it had gotten loose, and this particular brand of chemical--called an isocyanide, if you must know--is particularly foul. If you can smell it. I, however, cannot. It gives you headaches and causes you to want to vomit and gives you a sore throat. Nasty bastard, to say the least.

Anyway, shortly after arriving at work the other day, the two cups of coffee I had downed while driving the kids to school struck my lower abdomen with a vengeance.

"Hmmmm...must be 9:30," I thought.

I ambled down to my happy place and sat there pondering the ways and the whiles of the world for a bit. Finally, after releasing two very large, very healthy brown trout back to their natural habitats, I cleaned myself, took my leave of the place, washed my hands, and returned to my lab. I sat for a while, checked my email, and then called my wife and spoke to her for about twenty minutes. After I hung up, I worked on my notebook for a bit and then decided that I was thirsty. Oblivious, the entire time, to the fact that my lab had been evacuated until further notice.
See, the order had come down that we were to leave the labs and offices whilst I was in there discussing the pricing options with a man about his big, brown horse. Fortunately, after thirty minutes, I decided to go get some water from the break room. There, I found my labmates and team members, chatting idly about the stink in the lab and how they had to evacuate.

"So glad you could join us," one of them said.

"For what, now?" asked I, joyfully filling my water bottle.

"The smell in the lab. They've told us not to go in until it's resolved."

"Oh," I replied, a tad nonplussed, "Jolly good then."

I joined them at the table, then, suddenly understanding the plight of Charlie-in-the-Box, grape jelly squirt gun, Spotted Elephant and the rest of the Misfit Toys.

Although, I'm fairly certain, given my location when the evac orders came down, even King Moonracer wouldn't have scooped me up and whisked me away to his island kingdom.

For other truly tasteless tales of tawdriness, check out LiLu's joint at Live It, Love It: TMI Thursday.