NSFW – Story time with Kelsie J.

I worked the late shift and was now going to be even later at work so we sent a guy to pick up some Chipotle for us all. You probably know where this is going…
Three of us got some pretty horrible food poisoning. I worked in the underbelly of the airport so the employee parking lot was about a 3 day journey. I started the trek and stopped at the first bathroom I could to empty my aching bowel. I had almost made it to the exit when I had to duck walk to the nearest ladies room.  A plane had just landed and about 10 ladies were forced to listen to the chorus shredding my innards.
The walk to the lot wore me out. I was panting like I had just run a marathon, sweat pouring from my brow; shirt soaked. I made it, though. I got to my car and carefully lowered myself in, cautious of delicate my pooper. I readied myself for the 47 minute drive home. Yes, an entire lifetime. Mind you, it’s 0347 hours and every shop, store and station is closed on the way.
I said a little prayer and started the engine. As I was nearing the exit to the airport, my tumtum started to rumble again, my eyes started to water from the putrid stench slipping out of my precious little bum. At the time, I was pretty heavy in to vaping, with a delicious caramel and vanilla flavor. It smelled just like those little soft caramel chews with the vanilla center.  I tried to focus on the heavenly flavor, choking on the poisoned burrito stench, filling up the air.
I managed to make it to a nearby Sheetz, one that I visited daily and made my way to the back of the store, dodging each familiar face.   I exited the restroom and judgmental eyes watched me take my walk of shame to the exit.
“I’m sorry.” I muttered as I left the store.
I quickly made my way back to my car and nearly choked on the spoiled air as it wafted out through the open door. I cranked my car up and skirted out of the parking lot, making haste to the house.
I’m almost there…
As I turned down a dark country highway, I was home free – or so I thought. Not a soul in sight until a car passes from the opposite direction and just my luck, it’s a Sheriff’s Deputy who whips around behind me. I try to mask the stench inside the car by hitting my vape a few times, but no luck. I flip on the overhead light as I pull off, looking for anything in my car I might sit on when I inevitably release my bowels… nothing. Not a news paper, old t-shirt or even a McDonald’s napkin.
I sit quietly as the officer makes his way to my driver’s side window, shining his flashlight in to my backseat, then on to me, sweat drenched and pale.
I slowly lower the window and look down in shame. The aroma of caramel delights is mixed with the stench of diarrhea and the officer takes a step back as he covers his nose.
Him: Good evening, ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: No.
Him: The speed limit is 35 right here.
Me: Oh, I thought it was 45. I’m sorry.
Him: Any reason you’re in such a hurry?
Me: Well… (I look him dead pan in the face) I had some bad Chipotle and I’m about to wreck my britches. If I don’t go soon, I’ll have to step over to that ditch, sir.
Him: (Tapping the roof as he walks away.) Have a good night, ma’am.
Me: You, too!
My tires threw gravel as I spun out from the street, making my way to the house. For the most agonizing 13 minutes, I clinch my butt cheeks. I take deep breaths. I think about exactly what I need to do once I pull in to the driveway.
I finally arrive home and see the last obstacle standing between the bathroom and myself. I clench my house key in my hand and slowly get out of the car, legs shaking.
5 stairs… I take them slowly, easing myself up each one.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I find the front door unlocked, my trembling hand turns the knob and I step in the door.
7 feet.
My roommate is up and cleaning the house.
5 feet.
I compliment the cleaned house.
2 feet.
How was my day? I’ve been poisoned.
I sprint to the half-bath, barely latching the door behind me. I finally release my clenched cheeks and sweet, sweet relief, my bowels explode like a volcano. Hot, rotten lava spews from my anus. I cry out in relief, but then notice there’s no toilet paper, no towels… nothing but a small, cute rug.
Then there was a knock at the door… I waddle over to the door, pants around my ankles, poo running down my thigh. My roommate left a roll of toilet paper and some floral scented room freshener. I tap dry my poor, raw pooper and look back in dismay at the toilet that my sweet roommate had just scrubbed clean and pick up the toilet scrubber and try to erase the memory of what just happened; I then make my way to the shower.
The next day at work I feel hung over. I’m pale, dehydrated and incapable of making eye contact with anyone I meet. My car smells like raw sewage … and caramel delights.
My co-workers, who were also poisoned by Chipotle, try to play it off as nothing until I tell them my story.
Maybe one day I’ll tell you about the night I was poisoned by Casey’s taco pizza. This kind of stuff happens to everyone, right?!