Earl Has To Shit
Gator Thunderstom ~ 06/28/2024
Earl’s day had started off poorly and was rapidly descending into the stuff of nightmares. The urgency of his situation had turned from a mere inconvenience into a dire need to take a shit. After all, he was an old man with an old anus. He had been driving around the city for what felt like an eternity, his desperation growing with each passing minute.
His first stop was a sleek, modern coffee shop, the kind that prided itself on minimalist decor and overpriced pastries. Earl rushed in, his face a mask of distress, only to be stopped by a barista with a headset and a too-cool attitude.
“Customers only,” the barista said, not even looking up from the iPad register.
Earl, clenching his teeth, bought the cheapest item on the menu—a single, sad banana—and was granted access to the bathroom. But as he approached, a sign on the door dashed his hopes: “Out of Order.”
Next, he tried his luck at a fancy hotel lobby, its floors so shiny he could see his own panicked reflection. He strode with feigned confidence toward the restrooms, but a concierge with a hawk-like gaze intercepted him.
“Room key?” the concierge asked, her voice as cold as the marble columns.
Earl mumbled an excuse and retreated, his situation growing more desperate by the second.
He spotted a public library down the street, a beacon of hope with its promise of community services. But as he reached the restroom, he found a line of people, each waiting their turn with a patience Earl could not afford. The brown wave was closing in.
“Can’t you see it’s an emergency?” he pleaded with the person at the front of the line, but was met with a shrug and a dismissive, “We’re all waiting here, buddy.”
Earl left the library, his face flushed with embarrassment and his predicament worsening. He considered a nearby park, but the thought of the open space and potential onlookers sent him another direction.
As he passed a rundown gas station, he figured it was his last chance. He rushed inside, nearly colliding with a display of motor oil. The attendant, a grizzled man with a permanent scowl, pointed to a key attached to a hubcap.
“Outside, round back,” he grunted.
Earl grabbed the key and sprinted to the back of the building, where he found a door that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the gas station’s grand opening. He turned the key, pushed the door, and… It wouldn’t budge. He pushed harder, his face turning red, his breaths short and ragged.Every push against the door tested his mind, body, soul, and asshole. But the door remained firmly shut, mocking him with its immobility.
Defeated, Earl leaned against the grimy wall, slinking to the ground as the reality of his situation sunk in. And then, it happened—the thing he had been so vigilant against, the thing he feared the most. Earl fired brown water straight through his pants to the pavement beneath, right there in the alley.
The humiliation was complete, the day ruined. But as Earl stood there, a strange sense of relief washed over him.
He waddled back to his car, each step sending another soldier down his leg onto the sidewalk. He’d get cleaned up and he’d move on.
