i needed a poo during rush hour
I was driving to a business meeting early one morning on the M25 when my guts decided to drop. The brown bear was knocking at the backdoor and he wanted out. Immediately. The road was busy and my junction was miles away, so the welcoming sanctuary of a Holiday Inn or motorway service lavatory was but a distant dream.
With my sphincter pulsating and a sense of panic setting in I feared that I was about to shit myself. Spying the next exit I pulled across 3 lanes of traffic like a demented loon hoping I could find somewhere other than my undercrackers to evacuate my bowels.
It was getting desperate now, I was whimpering like a dog and sweating whilst clenching my buttocks frantically. Driving for a mile or so into some country lanes I spied a rural pub. Being 7am in the morning it was closed. No matter. I pulled into the car park, scanned for CCTV and then hopped out and scarpered behind a set of commercial wheely bins. Pants down and an epic torrent of poo poured forth. Relief! Until I realised I had no tissues to hand.
Past caring by this point and fearing that I was about to appear on Police Camera Action 5 I pulled up my kecks and left the scene of the crime. Arriving at my meeting an hour or so later I gave my colleagues a cheery wave before diverting to the toilets to survey the damage. My pants were beyond salvation so after an extensive clean up I spent the rest of the day commando nodding earnestly to corporate wonk-speak.
To the landlord of that pub, I apologise. It wasn't fox poo you (probably) trod in by the bins. It was real human faeces.
(mcgriffto, Mon 19 Nov 2007, 9:13, Reply)