The one where mr teatime shits himsilf at a meeting
Around a year ago whilst working as a trainee sales engineer with a hydraulics company I experienced what at the time, was quite a traumatising experience …

Myself and the sales manager would visit clients together, the idea being that I would be trained as we went along and so he had organised a meeting with one of our clients. We duly arrived and as we were waiting in the reception, the warning signs appeared, I should have known then that the faint rumblings in my belly were about to cause a major problem, but no I elected to not ask where the toilet was and swept it under the rug so to speak. Our client soon came to greet us and began to lead us through to the meeting room, not long into the journey my arsehole decided to go into a bit of a flap and slowly let its slimy brown infected mess into my pants. With each step more came out, I was now beyond the twilight zone. As we reached the meeting room I snapped back to reality, asked where the toilets were and excused myself. Following the directions given and with a steady amount of hot sticky arse fluid running out of my undergarments, down my leg in to my shoe, I made my way to the sanctuary of the toilets. Of course as fate had it, during this time I am being followed by a couple of office hotties, how attracted to me they must have been as I left my dripping trail of arse matter.

It is then I realise that there is a flight of stairs between me and the WC. Now if any of you has tried to walk up stairs while trying to hold in a wave of watery devils ca ca, you will realise it's pretty much up there amongst faster than light travel and finding Janet Street Porter attractive in terms of impossibility. I'd pretty much ran out of shit by the time I got to the toilet. Once in the cubicle I stripped off and began the process of cleaning myself. Bearing in mind that with trousers, pants, socks and shoes all contaminated with my unholy matter, it was no easy task. To make it a bit more interesting fate had decided that the shift in the workshop would finish now and that the entire workshop staff would need a piss. The laughter as they spotted my shitty under-crackers lying shittily on the floor, just close enough to the door to be visible to the outside world, will haunt me for a very long time.

They left eventually, I finished the task but despite the best efforts I still stank of shit and had wet trousers so I ventured out back to the meeting room and gingerly popped my head round the door to make my excuses and leave. I waited in the car for my colleague thanking my stars that we had taken my car. I never did tell him the truth about why I never made it in to the meeting room.

And to this day I smile when I cast my mind back to that day and to the fact that in the cistern of one of the cubicles in their workshop floats a pair of shitty ASDA under crackers, concealed out of sight but certainly not out of mind.
(Mr Teatime, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 19:15, Reply)