Emily Lund: Two Types of People


This may or may not be a true story but it could happen to you.

Once upon a time, something horrible happened. It started simply enough with a jalapeno cheddar brat. This glorious brat was carefully packaged with five of his brothers in white paper and tucked away in the freezer after being lovingly delivered home from a quick “stop” at the Brat Stop.  Until I saw that white package and took him out of his frozen tundra to thaw, I had forgotten about him altogether; months had passed without a thought of him.  I quickly made plans of grilling him up and eating him for dinner one week night while the husband was out of town.  Then, I forgot about jalapeno cheddar brat again- for too long.

The weather had been so terribly cold, I couldn’t remember that I had willingly taken something out of the freezer to grill.  The grill was buried under 10 feet of snow and therefore, the act of grilling completely escaped my mind.  When I finally noticed the small package, it had been possibly 9 days since the thaw from the freezer.  This might be too long of a period of time to still be considered “safe” for eating.  I thought that I should throw out the package.  Then, I changed my mind to rationalization.  Brats are already fully cooked.  It isn’t like the raw meat is spoiling away in the refrigerator.  Yes, cooking them will be just fine.

I will spare you the details of the cooking methods and just tell you that jalapeno cheddar brat was damn delicious. I was pretty happy with my decision to not throw this tasty invention away.  Life went on for approximately ten hours with eight of them consumed with sleeping.  Work began as all normal work days begin.  I was sitting in my office with the door closed and accidentally farted. Ooops, thank goodness it wasn’t loud and no one noticed.

Suddenly, I felt a gurgling stomach and decided it best to head to the bathroom immediately. Jalapeno cheddar brat might be plotting an attack and I felt it important to be ON the toilet when the attack occurred.  As I pulled down my pants, I noticed something AWFUL and unbelievable.  Something that had never happened to me before and something I was completely unfamiliar  and unprepared to handle.  There it was, liquid shit in my pants.  My fart had actually produced results.  I believe I heard my husband once refer to this as “sharting”.  I didn’t know anything about this “sharting”, but I was confident that this is what happened to me.

Panic set in immediately.  What the hell could I do?  There were several other people in the bathroom with me and I couldn’t jump in the sink and wash off.  I did the best I could with toilet paper and more toilet paper, and then an added attempt with toilet paper. For the first time in my life I actually understood the need for a bidet, but there was no bidet to be found.  I continued to sit in the stall and cry as I suffered through a massive attack of diarrhea, humiliation and horror.

It wasn’t even lunch time yet and I didn’t think it prudent to flee the scene, but I could not stay at work sitting in my own shit.  I am sure that anyone who would have visited my office would wonder, “What’s that smell?”  I packed up my things and headed towards the elevator.  Of course I ran into a co-worker.  She wondered why I was leaving so early.  “Intestinal issues that would best be addressed from home” was all I could mutter.

Driving home in a small enclosed car produced constant gagging and crying.  It happened to be the longest eight miles of my life. I was so happy to make it all the way home without passing out from holding my breath.  If it had been warmer and I was sure I wouldn’t be seen, I would have hooked up the outdoor hose and sprayed myself down before entering the building.   Instead, I went inside as quickly as possible, practically unbuttoning and peeling off my pants as I walked up the condo steps.  I walked in the door and immediately was ass attacked by the dog who must have been attracted to the smell of my poop pants.  He continued to bite my jeans and butt until I locked myself in the bedroom.

The pants and associated underwear went immediately in the trash and I quickly took two showers and one bath before taking the garbage to the dumpster.  I continued to be horrified and disturbed.  I called my husband.  I needed some guidance, some consoling, some explanation of what had happened to me and why.  I told him my tragic tale. He laughed and said, “It’s okay baby. There are two types of people in the world, those who have and those who will.”

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