A Perfect ShitStorm
Posted by Chad Quandt
My Inaugural Post deals with a poop story. Hold onto your butts.
Los Angeles, I just got here. I know we’re going to have some fun times, but the trip here across country was a mess barely worth all the celebrity nipple-slips and cocaine fountains you can provide. I drove through the center of America, and it was tough. I saw all of it’s beautiful simplicity. I also saw that Iowa has malls where they make food courts with playgrounds in them that kids aren’t allowed to use.
But somewhere between Denver, Colorado and Bumfuck, Colorado we made a stop at a Wendy’s. It should be known that Wendy’s is the premiere fast food chain. A long time ago, Dave Thomas realized the key wasn’t burgers. It was the Frosty. Let McDonalds and Burger King argue over whose beef-like substance is better. The Frosty holds sway over all.
It is the restrooms of Wendy’s that concern us on this day. I will try and be blunt my friends, as is there no other way to talk about what concerns our bowels. If there’s any place in American culture where we should be open and honest, it should be where we relieve ourselves daily of impurities and excess waste.
In this solitary toilet stall, I encountered the previous user’s waste. It was in the toilet as it should be, yet it had not left the bowl when flushed. It lay across the hole to the drain like it knew it was hanging on for dear life.
I can’t blame the man before me. He probably assumed his business was done and flushed without looking, like a wizard forgetting to double check he had permanently sealed a portal to hell shut. It was up to me to finish this hellwork, to become the unappreciated hero of Crusty Town (first of Frisky Dingo reference of many for this blog).
I flushed. It was unmoved. I did so another six times, evoking the holy number of seven. It would not yield. There are times when a man breaks his moral code, and this situation made your beloved writer someone who is weak. Seeing no end to this toilet juggernaut’s position, I proceeded to use the toilet anyway. If you want to be suddenly aware of your own mortality, try reliving yourself while knowing another’s stool hovers inches below your nether regions.
I had a theory my contribution would break the blockade when done.
No such luck. When I looked down to check my work (as all young folks should to examine how their digestive system is doing (no really, check out that shit (literally))), it had merely added to the pile. We were now playing an entirely different game. I had added to the problem. Suddenly it hit me; I was at Ground Zero for what was likely to become the Perfect Shit Storm. That Wendy’s was on a major highway and one of the few stops for 200 miles. Denizens travelling across the western states would continually hit that toilet rapidly until it was too late to do anything about it. No man would willingly go out and notify the help that their bathroom is dirty and clogged. The workers would automatically believe the messenger had done it. And when you’re looking at being blamed for a growing mass of filth, you do crazy things.
I ran from that bathroom, my friends. I saw the monster coming and ran. I will leave the problem for the next generation. If my calculations are correct, the town of Grand Junction, Colorado has already called in the National Guard to fight a slow, brown iceberg that will continue to grow. In ten years, Colorado will be a deadzone. Those of you on the East Coast have roughly a century to colonize space. You will be our last hope.
Note – I have no idea what signs this forebodes for this blog when your first post is about a bad poop. Pray. Matt Loman will be with you soon.