A Disappointing Evacuation

After a long day of slaving in the sun for rich assholes, who couldn’t give a shit about anything other than having a better lawn/house/car/everything than their neighbour, I returned home.

I skipped my shower that morning because I preferred the extra ten minutes of sleep. When I finally arrived home, I had already planned a trip to the bathroom, to take care of the foul stench that surrounded me throughout the day. On my way to the chamber of cleansing, a rumble rose up from below my stomach. Not the top of my belly, where hunger reminds you of how long it’s been since the last meal it’s received. Not in the middle or the side, where your stomach lets you know of discomfort or sickness. Not even the all around feeling of a stomach packed full with a rack of ribs or all you can eat sushi. It was that daily feeling at the very pit of your stomach, perhaps even below the actual stomach but in the upper intestines. That one terrible rumbling that lets you know you need to find a porcelain seat before it’s too late and you have to find yourself a new pair of pants to wear for the rest of the day.

It was actually more than just a mere rumble, but instead a full on GROWL, meaning that I only had a short amount of time to find a receptacle for the impending evacuation that was about to occur. Before I could even grab a book to keep me company, I was sent scrambling for the great white throne that is the toilet. Fortunately for me, there was the collective works of the great Karl Pilkington to distract me from the challenge I was about to face. His insane mixture of insight and insanity distracted me during the initial preparation, but the struggle to complete the job required my entire concentration.

The next ten minutes was a battle of endurance. With no handles on my new flushing home, me hands dug into my now quivering thighs. Squeezing and grunting, grunting and squeezing, I felt the first release, and heard the first *splash*. However my struggle wasn’t over. My face red from the effort, I took quick powerful breaths, remembering all of the advice I’ve seen on television and movies for giving birth. Finally, it was all over. I could breath freely, and finally rise from the site of my greatest fight within recent memory.

I stood, breathing deeply and triumphantly. With an air of accomplishment, I reached for a swath of toilet paper to complete the adventure. As I turned around to deposit the used tissue into the watery depths, the look of triumph melted from my face. There staring up at me from the bottom of the bowl, was the most pathetic looking piece of human waste I have ever witnessed in my life. It looked like a wad of brown hair that had clung together for warmth on a cold winter night.

How could such a small amount of feces have caused so much discomfort? It felt like arteries were ready to burst and my lungs were ready to pop. But what did I have to show for it. I had been digging trenches all day, but this tiny piece of feces took more effort to get rid of than all of the dirt I had shoveled combined, How was it possible?

With a resigned sigh, I reached for the handle to get rid of the disappointment that would surely haunt my dreams. As I pushed down and the water began to swirl, my hopes raised again, because from the small cave that exists at the very bottom of the bowl, emerged, as if to say it was okay, was a log. Not the giant pipe clogger that I was expecting, but at least regular size. It didn’t appear completely, just the end, as if to so “Don’t worry, you did good today”.

As quickly as it appeared, it was sucked down into the deep dark sewers, along with it’s disappointing brother, and I went to have that long awaited shower, with a sense of….well not accomplishment….I guess it would be acceptance. I started off with pride, after undergoing such a harrowing struggle, then got knocked down to anger and disappointment, but ended up at acceptance.

I’ve never understand why pride would be one the deadly sins, but this along with some other instances of my life make me think that it could make sense. I don’t think that it should be a deadly sin, but being overly prideful of something that is completely trivial normally does lead to incredible disappointment. Either other’s don’t share your respect for the activity and therefore don’t think you should be proud of your accomplishment, or you completely raise your expectations of your own performance, only to set yourself up for a terrible fall. It sucks.