Playing Chicken With My Own Intestines

The rumble started as I put on my shoes.

I listened closer: not quite drop everything and get to the bathroom levels, more along the lines of polite gas advisory.

It was time to leave. I had to make a decision. I decided to chance it.

Walk to the train stop.

Catch the train.

Transfer to the shuttle bus.

Still good, no issues on my commute. The gamble paid off.

Things changed on my way home, however. Let’s shift into reverse.

Shuttle bus – no rumbles.

Catch the train – now things get a little interesting. Rumbles have reached the descending colon, which usually means it’s time to boogie. I mentally calculate the time remaining on the train vs the amount of time it would take me to get off at the next stop and find a public bathroom vs the severity of the rumbles. Once again, I decide to chance it.

Every few stops, my gut pipes up and reminds me of all it can embarrass me in public.

At this point, I’m committed. I leave the train at my stop, and set out for home at a measured pace. Fast enough to get somewhere, but not fast enough to catch wind or make things move faster.

As I near my front door, the urgency rises – the rumbling starts again – and I start wondering if I can make it. Stick the key in the lock, open the door. One of my roommates is hanging out with her dogs, and I blast past with the “gotta pee” excuse.

I make it to the bathroom just in time.


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