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I swear, I didn’t crap my pants.

I sit here, at home, in total humiliation – of the worst kind. I’ve read/posted in and even created my own threads about people shitting in their pants before. And I don’t know whether this is some sort of sick kharma, or if it was just my turn. Let me start by telling you though – I didn’t shit my pants.

I was sitting on the cool public toilet at work at about one o’clock – fortunately, it was after our company meeting – minding my own business and taking a pretty grizzly shit. I had been sitting there for six or seven minutes, I guess, and – having gotten bored with it – decided to play a cheesy java game on my phone. I reached into the pocket of my khakis and fished out my phone. And started looking for snake – or something equally as entertaining. I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, and dropped my phone on the tile. It slid about two feet in front of my feet.

I think you can probably already see where this is going. Well, I leaned forward to pick up my phone, and SURE ENOUGH! the mother effing auto-flushing toilet thought I had gotten up and walked away. So it decided to flush. I hear the electronic pssst followed by the swish of the actual flush, and clinch up real tightly. I don’t ever flush while I’m sitting on the toilet. I don’t like the feel of water splashing and spraying and misting against my balls. Especially a public toilet that is full of my own junkie. So I sit there patiently waiting for it to finish, and before I know it, the cold water envelops my dingus.

what the hell? Before I had the chance to stand up, the water splashes over the edge of the bowl and pours onto the floor, and – more specifically – my khakis. And it kept going. I stood up as quickly as I could, and began to scoot forward, but I still hadn’t gotten my phone yet. So I bent back down to reach it, and this meant scooting back so as not to bang my head on the door. The whole time I’m doing this, thick shitwater is pouring into my pants and shoes, which are still around my ankles. Fortunately, I got my phone before it got wet.

Now, the dilemma. How the shit do I get out of the building without being seen? Well, the bathroom is on a long hallway, one end of which has the service elevators. I could sneak down that long ass hallway, and the only other office I’d pass besides my own is a glass-fronted office where mostly blind people work. The other direction means to take the main elevators, which are in the center of a large open area. We’re talking the equivalent of Grand Central Station here. So I chose the back way. But that still doesn’t answer what to do with my pants. I don’t want to pull them up and soak my legs and waist with shit.

Clearly, my options were limited. I could either A) pull my pants up and take the hit, walking out of the building with camo khakis, or I could B) stand in front of the sink naked, washing out my pants, then walk out of the building with wet pants. They’d probably just look like a darker shade – except for the trail of water I’d leave behind. Whatever I chose, I’d have to haul ass, because it was about 1:15, and everyone would be getting back from lunch shortly. And those bathrooms fill up after lunch.

I dashed to the sink and whipped my pants off over my shoes. I left them on because taking them off would have meant putting them back on, and getting re-accustomed to the feeling. I cleaned and washed my pants out as well as I could and pulled them cold suckers up, and buckled my belt. And off I went. Well I made it out of the building without seeing a single soul. But when I got outside, I had to pass through the smoking section, where about fifteen people were standing around smoking. I think one person noticed the trail of drops behind me, and pointed it out to his smoking buddy. So I bet they knew what was going on. But I made it to my car relatively unnoticed. I guess it could have been a lot worse. And hey, at least I didn’t blort in my pants, right?