Don’t Stop To Poo In Wyoming: Poo Spy On the Loose
I have a difficult time pooping in unfamiliar places. The last road trip I went on with friends had me running from bathroom to porta-potty all across America, trying very hard not to let this problem cause me to be uncomfortable and ruin my trip.
We had stopped for gas in Wyoming. I went to use the restroom. It was bustling with summertime travelers. There would be no way I could get myself to chill enough to go in there. Disappointed, I walked out and looked across the highway and spotted another gas station that seemed likely house a decent commode. There were no cars or people over there, so I decided I would use that to my advantage, skip across the highway and poop.
I found the women’s bathroom on the side of the small gas station, door flapping in the wind. The bathroom was fairly decent compared to others I had seen on the trip. I took the time to lay my nesting, ripping off neat squares of toilet paper to line the horseshoe seat and sat down on my throne, grateful for the solitude, until I noticed a moving shadow. I could hear a slight breathing. I was mistaken; I wasn’t alone. Dammit. I reminded myself that I would never see this temporary “bathroomate” ever again, and tried to ignore her presence, after all, she was probably up to the same exact thing I was.
I hunkered down and that’s when I noticed a shaking pudgy hand, grease and dirt around the bit off nails, holding a tiny round mirror that was ripped off of a makeup puck, quivering under the stall door. I saw his deranged eye in the reflection of the mirror for a second before I screamed and stood up to kick the door into whoever was holding that mirror. He/she/it ran out before I could get my shorts on and run out. Wherever it ran to, I wasn’t eager to find out. I took a few glances around but no one was there.
I ran back across the highway where the rest of my gang were waiting anxiously to get on the road again. I told them what happened. They seemed concerned for a second, but what could we do? We got back in the car and headed West…me, traumatized to the point that I didn’t poop for the duration of the trip.
The next trip I would go on would involve a new found love. We met an art show and were whisked away into a world of butterflies-in-the-tummy and bliss. He had a trip to Seattle planned and asked me to come along. Although we barely knew one another, I figured what better way to get to know a person than to travel with them? I bought my ticket and off we went.
I found out on that trip that I still had the problem of pooing in unfamiliar territory. Since I had just met the man I was traveling with, and was trying to woo him into being crazy about me, I didn’t want to bring up the topic of me pooing just yet. I kept to myself about the problems I was having.
In the past, I had success drinking coconut oil with my coffee to stay regular. I decided I needed to do this to keep myself comfortable for the time out there. I didn’t want constipation to get in between me and this wonderful trip with my new boyfriend. Unfortunately, the coconut oil wasn’t working the way it did back home. I was so uncomfortable and bloated. We were out there for two weeks and I had only pooped once.
I woke up very early the morning we were set to go home. I decided I couldn’t handle a plane ride in the state I was in, so I was determined to take care of the problem. We weren’t scheduled to fly out until the afternoon. There would be plenty of time to drink as much coconut oil as I could stomach and get my system moving again before flying.
My plan failed me and I found myself boarding the plane a big constipated mess.
Once we settled on board, new boyfriend to my left, strange lady to my right, my stomach decided it wanted to poo. I felt sick. I was sweating and turning green. New Boyfriend asked me if I was all right. I had to tell him…I really had to go. Stranger to the Right could tell there was something wrong too.
The plane scooted around the land-strip for what seemed like a very long time. The sounds of the plane engine seemed to mimic and emphasize what was going on in my stomach, the climax and decline, climax and decline.
I braced for take off, up-up and away, and before we stabilized, I unbuckled my seat belt. Stranger to the Right understood my cue and was waiting for it, she was up and out of my way quicker than I could say “diarrhea”.
I was in the john for a long time. I don’t know how long. It was terrible. I was so humiliated. I would have to face my new boyfriend, with him knowing I had diarrhea. I knew there was a long line of others who had to use the bathroom, I could hear them outside the door, knocking and wondering why I wouldn’t come out.
I dismounted, splashed some water on my face, and realized I couldn’t see out of one eye. I looked into the bathroom mirror. One of my eyes had swollen shut. I looked like Quasimodo. If that wasn’t insult to injury, I don’t know what was.
I had to conjure up the courage to leave the bathroom. It was one of those few brave moments in my life, where I just had to do what I had to do, straighten my spine, hold my head high and emerge from the john, beluga eye and all.
I squished past the line of bathroom goers in the isle and walked back to my seat, where I found my new boyfriend, happy to see me again. I told him about my eye. He looked at it and told me it was cute.
Do you have any good Travel Poo Stories? Share!