“Pounded by the Jets?” I keep seeing a gang rumble, here, but I can’t think of anything fecally-related that rhymes with “lousy chicken.”
You didn’t have Poysyn visit you today, did you?
(See Post 10)
Please don’t.
So did you notice the diarrhea in the jacuzzi before you got in?
Or did you blindly hop in, sink down into the soothing relief of the water jets and then notice something was…not quite right?
I just made myself laugh out loud thinking of little tiny poo particles spraying out of the jets. I’m a sicko, yes.
One project I worked on involved a new sludge heat exchanger (HX) for the digesters at a sewage treatment plant. The first HX had 1-1/4" copper tubes that were big enough to handle the sludge without clogging but someone (uh, that would be me) neglected to account for how abrasive the sludge is. About 4 months later one of the operators notice that there was sludge in the boiler. Ugh. Now that’s fouling!
(the replacement HX was a custom built unit with stainless steel tubes. In service about 8 years now with no problems)
Warriors… come out and spray…
Whew, so glad to see I’ve made it this long withou encountering jet poo.
poop soup.
Somehow I know I’ll be coming back to this thread until this happens.
Winner.
It’s been almost three hours, and we still don’t have any details. If you’re shaving your skin off, stop!
Specifically, I want to know:
- Did you actually enter the Jacuzzi before you discovered the diarrhea?
- Where is this Jacuzzi–in your house? your yard? a health club?
- How did you discover the diarrhea? Sight? Sound? Was it–dare I ask it–you who defecated?
- What level of concentration are talking about? Are we talking nut-brown slurry that could gag a skunk, or highly dilute almost-water with a vaguely suspicious odor?
- Was it nasty?
We may never know the answer to that.
On further review there may be a hint in the OP.
I took each nasty in the OP as an individual comment on each pooplet cluster.
So at least 24 of them were nasty.
So many questions left to be answered.
Alright. I’m not yet sufficiently scrubbed off, but I’m not sure there’s enough gasoline on this planet for that anyway…
This is a little long, and a lot TMI, but here goes. Sorry for the wait.
I’m staying in a hotel for work right now, and when I checked in last Friday, all the suites were booked because there was some kiddie hockey game in town this weekend. Flurkin’ families had all the good rooms.
So yesterday, after all the families all checked out, I upgraded into a larger suite. First thing I notice when I walk in is the huge jacuzzi in the living area. “Sweet,” I think. “Someone’s gettin’ naughty tonight, baby.”
So about 11:00 pm, I figure it’s about time to break this bad boy in. I take a shower to clean off my daily filth before I stew in the hottub (I’m pretty anal/obsessive/germophobic about stewing in water-- which makes this tale all the more, some might say, humorous. I might say macabre.)
I started the hottub water running before I hopped in the shower, and I waited til the water level was higher than the jets. Then I dumped one of those mini shampoo bottles into the jacuzzi so as to have a nice bubbly experience. I turned the jets on, and I made my way for the shower. Big mistake on two levels.
On the first level, by the time I got out of the shower, there was a mountain of bubbles taller than me (I’m 6’4", for those drawing pictures). The bubbles had completely climbed up the two giant wall mirrors and were quickly headed for the ceiling. I pretty much knew that this was going to happen, I was just really curious to see what a throbbing mountain of bubbles would look like.
On the second level, I was left completely unaware of what might lie underneath, within the water itself. But I’m jumping ahead here.
I stood for a moment admiring the bubbles and feeling naughty at the absurdity of it all-- a naked 30-year-old man admiring a mountain of bubbles.
I headed over to the college-boy and grabbed a cold High Life. I headed back to the jacuzzi and with a god-like motion, I punched through the towering mountain.
I stepped into the steaming water and acclaimated myself to the heat, and I took a seat with my beer resting next to me. I submerged myself up to my neck and relaxed for a spell. Then, by the ghost of Spaulding Smails, I dunked. My head.
All of this took place in less than 15 seconds. I say this for the record, in case anyone is thinking I may have at some point, unknowingly, evacuated myself into the tub. A) I would’ve noticed. B) I had already evacuated myself that day, and was in no way ready for another one. And C) Just trust me on this one, folks.
So I sit back up and reach for my beer, and it was at that moment that I first noticed that something might, possibly… be askew.
There was a brownish fleck on my arm. Not a big one, but a fleck nonetheless. I thought, “Hm.” Then I flicked it and took a swig of the pilsner. Obviously, one’s immediate almost-unconscious thought is “Is that poop?” But of course I just wanted to enjoy my soak, so I ignored that nagging little thought.
I sat in the ol’ hottub for a while and finished off my beer. The bubbles were starting to recede, and I had just pretty much had enough of the whole experience, so I got out. I was covered in bubbles.
I toweled myself off, and I threw the towel in the corner of the bathroom. But while I was in the bathroom, I thought "Maybe one more shower just to hose the bubble residue off before bed (I know, I’m compulsive).
By the time I got out of the shower and made my way back into the living area, the bubbles had popped their way down to a mound just peaking over the top of the tub.
This morning, I woke up and made my way to the bathroom. It was at the moment I walked by the mirror to check myself out, that I then noticed that the mirror was filthy. Damn filthy. At first glance I just thought it was bubble residue. But then I noticed it was brown. And a little flecky.
I took a step closer, and that’s when I noticed the tub.
Now if this were a movie, this is the part where the camera zooms in really fast and tight on my head in order to comically capture my relatively drawn-out moment of horrific wonder, then realization.
Imagine, if you wish, a million teeny-tiny particles of pureed poop latching themselves-- unnoticed-- onto a million little shampoo bubbles. Then imagine what a tub might look like once all those little bubbles popped. It’s kind of like popping a shaving-cream-covered balloon, except a lot smaller and browner.
I drew my hands up to my mouth, as a woman might just before she lets out a blood-curdling scream. Then I remembered I probably hadn’t washed my hands with soap since I had gotten out of the tub. I pulled them away from my face and looked at them. Then I began a full-body inspection for any poop that might have hitched a ride out of the tub. I ran back to the bed to inspect the glistening white sheets. Both the body and sheets were clean, thank og.
But that’s probably because every piece of shit that clung to by sudsy body was already encrusted on the towel now-heaped in the bathroom corner.
I jumped into the shower and gave myself a full-blown Silkwood, complete with screaming and weeping.
Then after I no longer felt like I had just taken a cannonball into a septic tank, I called the front desk and, um…let’s just say I “complained,” and leave it at that.
Then I took a picture of the tub.
Good grief. Just writing this, I think I have to take another shower.
Happy
I clicked on the thread title because it reminded me of a particular item from the “embarrassing stories” section of a teen magazine. The young lady had let one rip in the pool; upon turning around, she encountered a “cloud” of diarrhea. So I thought the OP was going to describe such a cloud blossoming from the backside of someone in the jacuzzi.
I still think “pooplet cluster” is funny though.
Interesting story, Dag Otto. We haven’t worked any sewage problems yet, but I think my university offers that as an elective (which I’ll probably pick up next semester, having been so inspired by this thread).
Shit? That’s disgusting.
Now taking bets as to when the first picture request arrives.
Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.
How utterly disgusting.
Link!
Almost worse than what happened to you is that no matter how much you protest, there is always going to be an inkling of doubt at the front desk that… maybe it was you, and that’s how you get your jollies…
You win. :o
PICTURES! NOW! As soon as he started his description, I wanted pictures!
I think I might have to check out of this hotel, because I have this nagging feeling that every time I walk by the front desk they’re giggling and I’m “That guy who bathed in feces.”
I know that’s what I’d be doing if I worked at the front desk, and a guy who bathed in feces walked by.