Last night, I was enjoying a fun phone conversation with Brian when, I wish I could recall how the subject came up, we started talking about poo. When I said it, I didn't think it was that big of a deal.
"Poo, huh? Do I have a poo story for you."
Brian was so enamored with my poo story, he made me tell it at tonight's dinner party, entertainment for a horrified audience. And he's appalled this story hasn't appeared on the blog.
Again, brace yourselves. Here we go:
When I was thirteen, I attended a 2 week sleep-away camp called CYO Camp Armstrong. I went with my friend Lauren, but we were immediately separated and put in different cabins. I recall Lauren writing a letter home detailing this injustice. As has been a theme in my life, I was not immediately accepted by the fellow campers. Towering above them and bringing along my own New Kids on the Block arsenal of interior decoration, the girls sharing my cabin did not think I shat sunshine. And one of them only had one leg! You'd think, were there an odd man odd, it'd be the chick who removed her prosthetic and hopped to her bunk.
Nope. It was me.
Anyway, one day we had to go on a nature hike, a hike in which campers were staggered 5-10 minutes apart so that we could focus on the gorgeous woods and our heart's desires for 30 minutes. About 20 kids were sent on this march through the mountains and I was probably the 5th kid to start on the walk.
As it began, some camper 5 minutes in front of me and another 5 minutes behind, it wasn't that bad. But soon I realized that I really, truly had to poo. I'm not a big fan of scatological humor here, so bear with me. It apparently happens to the best of us.
The further into the forest I ventured, the greater my need became. I began to panic, nerves hardly helping the situation and as my need grew greater, I began to cry. The path was narrow due mainly to the fact that we were walking on the side of the mountain. I could reach out my hand and touch the mountain's wall on my left and to my right, the mountain went straight down. I couldn't very well dart behind a bush. It was like I stood on the ledge of a building.
15 minutes into this hike, it was clear we were dealing with a serious emergency. I was in physical pain, I was crying ... the toilet paper issue was the least of my worries. In my 13 year old mind, I had to shit. There were simply no other options.
So I did. Right there smack dab in the middle of this very narrow path on the side of a mountain. I can remember everything about this vividly because my only thought at the time was overwhelming relief. I was overcome with euphoria. As far as I was concerned, my problem was solved. I seriously cannot begin to express to you the physical exhale I experienced. I may have grabbed a handful of leaves to use as toilet paper, that detail still seems minor and irrelevant. I walked on down the path fully content, leaving behind me an ungodly barricade of feces.
It took about 3 minutes for me to hear the first screams. And another 3 seconds for me to realize I'd actually taken a shit in the middle of everyone's trail. Horror crept in as I made my way to the clearing where our post-hike picnic was getting underway. 4 campers casually sunned themselves, unaware of what their cabin-mates were being subjected to back on the hike. The rest finally did arrive, in one big group, obviously waiting by the shit barricade to gasp and marvel that a mountain lion or bear that had dramatically pooed all over the mountain.
I didn't have the wherewithal to say, "Yeah! I saw that shit too!" or "What are you guys talking about!?!" I just stood there looking terrified in between the "Wait, what did you see?" people and the "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" people.
No one accused me outright. But it became clear that I was somehow connected with the shit. At best, I saw nothing wrong or mentionable about a barricade of shit in the middle of our hike, which in and of itself is questionable. The fact that I may have actually created said barricade was definitely floating around CYO Camp Armstrong.
And I had a week of camp left.
It occurs to me as I type this that my story will in no way benefit my social and/or romantic life. I'm only telling it to you because Brian was horrified I was keeping this from you. I still don't even see what the big deal is.
At least I have both my legs...