Right now, I had to experience one of my worst fears: the emergency dump.
I was in class and I could feel a hot one brewing. I figured it would be a normal one that would come out upon arriving back at my house.
However, when I stood up to leave class after it was dismissed, my bowels were suddenly outraged and proclaimed their disgust with a multitude of burbles and groans. I knew my time was limited.
As I walked out into the morning sun, I was trying to estimate exactly how much time I had, all the while keeping my sphincter tightly clenched. This is difficult, since one must not walk as if they have a tightly clenched sphincter. I was trying to think of buildings I could dip inside of in case of the worst situation. Keep in mind, I am walking from Brewster to 3rd and Woodlawn, so I have about a 10 minute trek.
I scanned through the list of criteria needed for an emergency dump: proximity, degree of seclusion and population. I have already left Brewster, and I keep telling myself let it pass let it pas -- suddenly I am met with a serious cramp. I almost had to stop walking and my feet tripped under me. Time is really running out.
As I round the turn going between the Austin and Howell buildings, my bowels were becoming increasingly irritated. I could feel the pressure building and my estimate of ten minutes suddenly decreased to about two. As I passed a group of chatting girls, I was sure they could see the look of urgency on my pale, worried face. I need to find a bathroom.
I've never been in the Howell building, so I scratched that. However, I thought if I concentrated on a calm mental state I might be able to make it to the Geology building, since a friend of mine once commented on its valuable seclusion factor. My bowels, on the other hand, were extremely impatient and I could feel the muscles around my sphincter starting to sweat. If I don't find a bathroom soon, I may have an... accident!
Ultimately worse than the emergency dump is the accident. Nothing could possibly be more embarrassing than a seasoned college student suddenly releasing an uncontrollable torrent of strong coffee-induced liquid waste all over the walkway. Although I am nearly finished with my studies, I'd like to leave with dignity.
So, I figured Austin may be my best bet. If I climb to the third floor, I might be able to do the doo and leave. I quickly about-faced into the west entrance of Austin behind a hot chick, who I prayed would not go to the third floor. There was a man waiting for the elevator and I stalled for a quick second to rationalize: the stairs vs. the elevator.
The stairs involve both a good and bad side: not waiting for the elevator and immediate gratification for having arrived on the third floor swiftly. However, the stepping motion combined with exertion on the lower abdomen to ascend the stairs gracefully could result in a premature release of the bowels. Realizing I have about a minute and a half before the inevitable, I chose to the ford the river of mental control and took the stairs.
As I climbed the grueling stairs, with each step inching me closer to ultimate failure (yet ultimate relief), I realized that one of my best professors is in this building; however, I do not know which floor. I decided to forgo the fear of possible contact, and I continued my way up the stairs.
I reached the third floor, but to my displeasure, the seclusion factor was at an all-time low. There were so many people here bustling about. Before I could decide otherwise, my bowels let out a banshee-like moan, and so I scuttled down the hall. Trying to remain calm so as not to draw attention, I quickly dipped into the nearest men's room. There were people within a 15 foot radius. Not good.
When I pushed the one-way swinging door open, I realized if anyone came in here, I was doomed. The bathroom was no larger than two phone booths and contained a mere one stall and one urinal. Realizing I have about 30 seconds, I calmly locked the stall door, hung my bag on the wall and proceeded to drop-trou to release the anger inside.
After the wave of relief washed over me (along with a splash of moving fluid in my bowels), I knew I needed to courtesy flush -- badly. As I reached behind me, a moment of panic came over me. There was no handle! I tried to cover the infra-red sensor with my hand for a moment and uncover it, to perhaps trick it into thinking I left; however, the red eye of the sensor glared back at me in evil. There was no escaping the smell. I knew I had a limited amount of time before it crawled along the floor of the poorly ventilated bathroom to the exit vent in the door. This would be a dead giveaway to my soiling of ECU property.
If my professor was on this floor and came in now, I would have to pray he didn't recognize me. So I managed to wipe up (which took a minute since I had to check my back). While wiping, I decided if anyone came in, I would just wait it out. Yet, I could not wait too long, for the smell could escape, even though the dirty deed was already on its way to the Greenville treatment plant.
I grabbed my bag, and I began to wash my hands in hot water. While drying, I listened for any commotion outside the door. I need to exit with as little people around as possible. If anyone were to catch a whiff of the rotten release as foul as the devil himself, they would know it was me, thus soiling my dwindling reputation at ECU. After 5 seconds of silence, I knew it was my time.
Right as I began to go for the door, I heard footsteps approaching fast. This is another dire situation, for once the next patron sees me leaving the bathroom, he will know it was me who made the stink. I opened the door and I was too late. There he was, backpack, bandanna, black shirt and shorts, staring at me. I knew the drag coefficient of my body would carry the smell with me, so I swiftly walked. I managed to make a grimace as if to say, "I don't know who did that" but I knew I had been defeated.
As I proceeded out the way I came, I noticed people sitting on the floor. I just hoped the patron after me did not turn around and give me "the look," which would alert other people of the crime I had committed. My dignity crushed, my bowels relieved, I quickly and quietly went down the stairs and out of the Austin building.
To everyone in the 3rd floor of the Austin building, I am sorry. Strong coffee and hard-boiled eggs, as well as a high-fiber diet, can wreak havoc on a 24 year old man's digestive tract. Never again will I use your facilities for emergency dumping.