alt=a man peeks around a corner, illuminated by the light coming from an open bathroom door. Silhouettes of party-goers are in the adjoining space.

My Toilet Heist

Before reading this, know that I’ve hardly told anybody this story for fear of it getting back to the person whose toilet I destroyed with my fiery poops. Welcome to the same club!

This was several years ago. A time of socializing, where one could freely travel to friends’ houses without the worry of viruses or masks or quarantine. It was a simpler time, where all I had to worry about was the location of the same bathroom.

Before I was diagnosed with IBS, and therefore treated my body with the respect it deserves, I would treat life sorta like the wild west. I would eat whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted. Riding in from town to town, unconcerned of where the nearest outhouse or saloon was. I was free to venture into the house of a friend whom I had never visited before. I was so naive.

The house party

It was late at night, and I remember some of his uncles out in the driveway around a fire. Just a fire, in the middle of the driveway. My posse of childhood best friends' hang out in the garage where we’re offered sweets by our other host friend. As a sugar fiend, I racked up twirlers, M&M's and as many chocolatey finger foods I could muster. After that sweet sweet break, he led us inside where his family was having a house party.

When I say it was packed I am not kidding. Every room and hallway was filled with wanderers and family friends. Just as he started showing us a tour of his place, it struck me. That all too familiar gurgle. Back then I brushed it off as a normal bathroom urge, so I held off. I mean I didn’t want to be rude to my buddy, showing us civil war figurines and miniatures he had set up.

IBS urgency kicked in

But I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to the guest bathroom and unloaded. What would become all too common, was an IBS flare like no other. I had sweats, cramps, nausea. When I was finally done, I dusted myself off and stood up, only to realize it was not going down. No need to panic, I told myself. I’ll just look under the sink for a plunger or brush or something. NOTHING! I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE SEEN A TUMBLEWEED ROLL AROUND IN THERE.

It was at this moment that somebody just starts walking in on me.

“Someone’s in here!” I saw as I hear people clamoring outside the door. I instinctively close the toilet lid to hide my crimes just to see a paper note taped to the toilet tank: "No #2’s"

I picked the wrong toilet

Well, how was I supposed to see that?! It was being obscured by the lid! So I mustered every ounce of James Bond I had in me and just left. I snuck out and evaporated, not getting caught by the line of impatient party goers. I didn’t look back as I, somehow, remained completely anonymous and disappeared into the crowd.

Escaping the house party

Quickly, reached my friends in the basement and I began to usher us out. I figured we had made our appearance and the longer we stay, the more likely someone will catch my shame. As we started to walk out of his basement, one of my best friends decides to do this cool thing where his head completely phased through the basement ceiling light. Like the crack of a whip, he effortlessly and smashed this single light build somehow leaving his forehead unscathed. In a final act of urgency, I examined his head and profusely apologized to our host before leaving the property. I did it. I performed the toilet heist of the century with only a broken bulb to show for it.

Wow, looking back it was a miracle that I got out, and people in line nor the shattered bulb stopped me on my escape. I thank my stars that I didn’t live to rue that day but, rather, live a safer IBS life because of it. Thank you, light bulb, for you shattering rather than my dignity.

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