What's your most unfortunate bowel or bladder malfunction

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Recently I was catching up with an old college buddy and it jogged my memory of an unfortunate bathroom situation I found myself in all those years ago (this would be early 00s).

A few of us guys spend one Friday night hanging out at our hometown’s late-summer festival, drinking keg beer, eating Polish food cooked in a humid tent and having as spectacular a night as guys in our mid-20s could have.

We decide to meet up at our buddy’s house the next day around noon and then head back to the festival to grab lunch and walk around. Our buddy had just bought the house that we’re gonna meet up at a month prior. He is the first of our group to be a homeowner. He is living the good life in his mid-century bungalow.

The next day, we arrive at our buddy’s house, and over the course of a half hour or so, a few more people show up, including some ladies.

My stomach is feeling angry from the cheap keg beer and carnival sauerkraut from the night before. While my friend (the homeowner) goes upstairs to his room to get ready, I sneak off to relieve some of this gastrointestinal distress that is bearing down upon my undies.

From a tour of the house I took a few weeks prior, I know there is a bathroom in the basement. Well, not exactly a full bath, or even a half bath. A lot of the older houses in our town have these toilets in the basement with thin walls erected around them. No sink, and the walls often don’t even go all the way up to the ceiling.

The door of this one is just a shower curtain, but I’m super glad to have an option other than the main floor bathroom, as I know this is going to be a loud purging of evil, probably smelling like a barnyard, and like I said, there are a bunch of people at the house now including some ladies.

So I sneak off to the basement to do my business in solitary peace. I waddle over to the shower curtain and pull it back. I make a quick check for toilet paper, and am feeling pretty good about myself for having the wherewithal to actually make sure that there is some toilet paper there before I sit down. Wouldn’t want to have an embarrassing situation where I’m yelling out for someone to bring me a roll!

Lucky that I do check for toilet paper because a quick look-see shows there is no toilet paper in the vicinity. So I waddle back upstairs stealthily to snag one out of the main floor bath.

My thievery complete, I head back down to the basement toilet to get things moving.

I begin the task at hand, and it is every bit as nasty as I suspect it will be. Maybe worse. Obviously, there’s not much of a buffer between me and the rest of the house, what with a shower curtain and thin “walls” surrounding me on the throne. So, good friend that I am, I reach back to give a courtesy flush. And that’s when this tale takes a grim turn.

The flush handle thingie just jiggles impotently between my fingers. Very impotently. I begin to furiously jiggle that thing as a bead of sweat slow-rolls down my forehead and a silent prayer goes up from my lips: “Dear God, why isn’t this flushing? Please let this flush. Why is it so hot in here?!”

I reach back to take off the lid from the tank and peek inside. No water. Bone dry. No float ball. No flapper. I begin to look around, trying to figure out what foul hell I’ve gotten myself into and I suddenly notice THE TOILET ISN’T HOOKED UP TO ANYTHING. Hell, this isn’t even a bathroom! It’s a friggin storage closet with an old toilet just sitting in it!

So what do I do? The only thing I can do: I wipe my ass, put a ring of toilet paper around the base of the toilet to prevent a widespread toxic waste leak across the floor, and skedaddle on out of there.

We all leave to go grab lunch at the fest, and while in line at the Polish tent (back on that horse!) with the homeowner and another buddy, I confess.

The other buddy falls on the ground laughing.

The homeowner buddy… well, he just doesn’t seem to see the humor.

Anyone else got any tales of bowel or bladder malfunctions they’d like to share with the class?

2

Yes I do but no I won’t. Recovering from anal cancer was six months of spectacular “incidents” that you really don’t want to hear about.

3

I’ve had stress incontinence ever since I gave birth. That means any time I cough or laugh, there’s a risk of peeing myself a little. Well, I also have cough-variant asthma which flares up whenever I have a respiratory illness (it won’t stop for weeks.) The first few years I had a baby, I was sick constantly from Fall to Spring. And I would get this deep, racking asthma cough that triggered just constantly. So it was a lot of flailing around, coughing so hard it was hard to get a breath in, all while pissing myself. Good times.

4

Oh my lord, Happy! You’re a better one than I. I’d have never said a word.

I have a lot of these stories too, unfortunately. The worst one happened on a work day not too long ago, and I was not wearing my brown pants! I had left the office to go pick up a cake for someone’s retirement party, and on the way to the grocery store, I trusted a fart at a red light. I had to sit there in warm, wet betrayal, feeling it soak through my underpants, through that long, long light. Finally it changed, and I sped to the store and into the ladies room to do damage control. It was bad, but at least I was prepared! I had a “shit kit” in my purse, with wipes and baggies and (praise Jebus) another pair of underwear. Only thing was, I needed to wash my skirt a little bit, and there was someone else in another stall. I didn’t want her to catch me half naked desecrating the only sink. So I had to stabilize things the best I could and move the whole operation to the “family restroom” which was a single room with a sink (praise Publix).

Long story short, that day some people got cake, and I went home early.

5

There were birth “defects” related to this. Before an operation and learning to adapt…

In elementary school, second grade or so, I was walking down the hallway, leaving to go home to change clothes. A group of kids noticed my issue and made comments.

6

I had an episode of intestinal distress at the grocery store a few years back. I headed to the men’s room, only to find both stalls occupied. Thinking I could hang on long enough for one or the other stalls to clear out, I went back to my shopping. But it wasn’t long before things started feeling much more urgent, so I went back and both stalls were still occupied. WTF? There’s normally never anyone in the restroom. Desperate, I peeked in the women’s room and it was empty, so I used a stall in there. I got in and out as fast as I could and luckily nobody came in, but I still felt horribly embarrassed about the whole thing.

7

@Happy_Lendervedder, that’s a tale worthy of Master Wang-Ka for sure.

Thanks to my former job, requiring 4-5 hour stretches with various students and no real way to take a leak break (every second is precious, and the only possible relief person in the form of our floor supervisor was usually too busy with other tasks to take over for 5 minutes), I “trained” myself to hold it in (#1 note-I always made sure #2 was done before I went in) no matter what for that length of time, but the flip side is once I walked in the door to my place that all went out the window and I would typically have to rush to the bathroom before it was too late. Still happens if e.g. I just got back from a long drive or plane trip or such.

8

This part made me laugh out loud, though I really do sympathize with the plight! Now I’m curious how the unfortunate homeowner dealt with the “present” that you left for him down in that storage room! My solution would have been to encase the entire toilet in several extra-large heavy duty plastic bags, well sealed, and rush it down to the nearest landfill in the back of a pickup truck. As a courtesy to your fellow citizens, the bag should probably have been emblazoned with “hazardous waste” insignia! :grin:

Alternatively, if you or the homeowner had access to a helicopter and a nearby volcano, dropping it in there would be even better!

9

Nuke it from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.


I once DIY replaced a toilet and that left me with a perfectly serviceable unit and no place to connect it to. I didn’t want to deal with dragging it into my car and off to the dump, just from the weight, awkward shape, and overall fragility, not any squeamishness about its former purpose. Bulk trash pickup would take it, but they only came around once every 6 months.

So I set in my 2-car garage along the back wall but facing out towards the street. Lotta neighbors asked me why I’d installed an unscreened bathroom in the middle of my garage where they could see it whenever the door was open.
:zany_face::toilet::grin:

10

Not so much a malfunction as a misfortune… I was at a party with my wife once, and we were at her friend’s house. So it was a fairly loud and fun party, and at some point, I noticed that I had to fart pretty badly.

So I got up, went into the bathroom in the other room and let rip. Loud, long farts. I thought “Well, I’m glad I’m in here where nobody can hear them.”

That wasn’t the case. The way my wife tells it, I excused myself, went into the bathroom, and then there was a sort of lull in the noise… except for my raucous farting. Apparently that bathroom didn’t have any internal insulation between itself and the living area- just some thin wood paneling and one layer of ancient wallboard. So it was nearly as loud as if I’d stood there and ripped farts in front of everyone.

I came out and noticed that everyone was looking at me, and my wife was incapacitated with laughter.

11

As am I right now. Sometimes I’m very juvenile.

12

Due to unforseen circumstances, unfortunately I do not pee.

My favorite hidey spot is not something I can use now to escape. Which I like to do on occasion. :face_with_peeking_eye:

13

My part in the story ended when I told him what I did. This incident was never mentioned again by anyone. I was still welcomed in his home, it was the gathering point for many years, and heck he was eventually one of the groomsmen in my wedding. He seemed to harbor no ill will toward me, and I have no idea how the “situation” in his basement was “handled.” I can’t even imagine the horror he had to endure.

Never spoken of again…

14

One time when I was a kid, I ate about 10 kilos of apples in one sitting and then went to a church camp service where the sermon was too long. All the kids were jammed in a pew and it was impossible to get to the restroom in the far corner of the building.

After all those apples, my lower GI tract churned up and I unloaded about 10 kilos of poop into my jeans. I still remember clearing the row and two adults accompanying me to a nearby shower room. Luckily I had clean clothes in a duffle bag and they actually had a washing machine on site to heavily wash out my clothes.

It still surprised me how fast a 7-year old like me could clear out a room. I’m lucky that I’ve never had such a problem since.

15

I don’t often tell this tale, but this is actually an appropriate place for it. In the early 90s I was stationed in Rota Spain and shared an apartment on the beach with 2 other guys. It was literally on the beach and if you know anything about beaches in Spain you will understand why we spent a lot of time on the balcony.

About a 10-minute walk from our apartment, there was a German Bar (it was called Bar Aleman) owned by a delightful Austrian couple. They served all kinds of German beer, including Eku-28 - a doppelbock with 11% ABV, along with a simple menu of German food. One of the things that made it wonderful to be a sailor in Rota is that there was an extensive circle of girls from the UK and Ireland that came there to work as bartenders (and meet American sailors). I had my eye on a particular girl from Ireland and we had made a dinner date at the German bar. We sat outside and noshed on curry wurst and sauerkraut washed down with lots and lots of German beer. Things were going swimmingly and it was looking like she might be coming home with me that night. But then things in my bowels started to get squirrely. I went off to the bathroom to discover that since the bar was in a very old building the only accommodation was a bombsite toilet (basically a hole in the floor with footpads on either side). I tried to squeeze out a fart to relieve some of the pressure and quickly realized this wasn’t going to end well. My grandfather was right - never trust a fart. I had to get home. ASAP.

So I paid the bill on the way out and stopped at the table to make my apologies, I’m not feeling well and I hope we can do this again soon (as it turned out, completely blowing my chances, but needs must and I had a bigger problem to worry about). I trotted on down the street at a brisk pace to get to the beach road that would lead me back to my apartment. I turned the corner and realized I was in more trouble - they had closed the street to traffic and were having a street festival. It was a wall of humanity and I realized that a 10-minute walk was going to be much longer dodging all the people who stood in my way. With my guts in excruciating pain I made my way to the beach, which would give me a relatively clear path home.

By now I realized that even with a clear path, I was never going to make it. I looked to my left and had an answer - I’ll shit in the ocean. It was such an emergency I didn’t even think to take off my pants before running into the waves. I got about waist deep and yanked my shorts down, immediately followed by the inevitable explosion from my bowels as I was tumbled by the waves. Relief was immediate. So there I stood in the ocean, covered in shit and bare-assed. I swam a short distance away to clean myself up and put my pants back on. Then I realized that I still had hold of my boxers, but my shorts were missing. I splashed around looking for them to no avail. The waves must have carried them out to sea.

So in boxers and my favorite Aloha shirt, I dragged my humiliated self onto the beach and began the slog home. I arrived at the door to our apartment and realized that my keys and my wallet were in my shorts and probably halfway to the Azores by now. One of my roommates (let’s call him Mike) was still out to sea and wouldn’t be back for a few more days at least. My other roommate (let’s call him Bob) was at the tail end of a shift on base and might be home. Luckily, a light was on, so Bob was probably home. I tried the door and it opened.

As I stood just inside the door, sopping wet, a woman came running from the living room. She stopped short and screamed. I screamed (was I in the wrong apartment? - Couldn’t be!). “Who are you?”, I said. “Who the hell are YOU!”, she shrieked. “I’m Thumper, I live here.”

We stared at each other for a beat, and then she said, “I’m Mike’s fiance. He’ll be home tomorrow. Why are you all wet? And where are your pants?” “It’s a long story,” I said, “and maybe I’ll tell you when I know you better. Right now, I need a shower.”

By the time I had showered and put on dry clothes, Bob was home, and he and Mike’s fiance were sitting in the living room laughing their asses off. No one had told me that Mike’s fiance was coming from Alabama to visit, and I never did tell her why I was soaking wet and half naked. Bob had figured most of it out on his own, so he told her. A month later, I got my own apartment a couple blocks away from the beach.

16

Man, right when I thought the story had hit the best part, it just kept getting better!

17

And right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. :slight_smile:

18

I don’t know how “unfortunate” this really is, but…We were at the end of a family vacation to somewhere in Southern California, probably to some abusement park or another, and we had checked-out of our hotel room from the TV prompts, so all we had to do was load-up the car and drive away. After the last suitcase was loaded, I returned to the room to, uh, unload - dropped an epic klinker. No idea what I ate to create that thing. It was a brick, stubborn and unmovable by the water of several flushes, but somehow not causing a clog. What to do, what to do? Family waiting in the car, but it wasn’t going to be right to leave it there for the housekeeping staff to find. Break it up somehow? But with what? Hey, what about these wooden hangers in the closet?..

Yep, that’s what I did, and one more flush made it disappear. Hanger restored to closet, and off we went. Sometimes, you gotta be resourceful.

19

And this is why I sanitize everything in a hotel room before touching it, and won’t touch anything I haven’t sanitized. My family thinks I’m nuts, but this validates my nuttery!

20

Yeah, sorry, man! But did you ever think you needed to sanitize hangers?