Fiber Failure: A Tale of Two Muffins

If blog posts came with ratings like the movies, this one would definitely require a PG-13. Not suitable for all audiences, for offensive references, disgusting visuals and raunchy memories.

Short of apologizing to my mother for telling this one, I'm gonna just get right to it. She's heard it live, which is probably worse.

I take that back. I need to set up a few things first.

This is a true story. I know you'll doubt that, and me as I tell it, but I promise. I swear. On my aforementioned mother.

It's true.

And, unlike some of those "I have a friend who..." stories, this is NOT my story. It did not happen to me. Because if it did, I assure you that I'd never tell a soul. I wouldn't be writing it here, that's for certain. Maybe it would come out in a drunken fit, over the last in a long line of draft beers or vodka cocktails, but I wouldn't be willingly stepping up to reveal such embarrassment.

I'd be too, well, embarrassed.

So, here goes. I'd say you may want to grab a beverage or a snack for this one (it's not the shortest of the Long Story Short varieties), but given the nature of the tale, you best not. It's long, and it's disgusting.

I was at a business meeting years ago, and it was pretty far north of the city. We needed a rental car, my colleague and I, so I got one in my name and we rode up there together, separate from our boss.

The meeting was planned for really early in the morning - as clients are prone to do - to get all of the talking out of the way first thing, to leave more time for the doing that the day entailed. We arrived, dressed in our business suits and casual coordinates, and set our bags down by the door. Since this was before budgets were slashed and corporations no longer spent money on frivolous things such as catering, the client urged us to help ourselves at the breakfast spread that was along the back wall of the mid-sized conference room. We had about 10 minutes before the meeting was to begin.

My colleague, Sue*, cruised through the buffet before I did. She helped herself to a few spoonfuls of fruit salad, a small cinnamon tart, and an oversized bran muffin. She glanced at me, mouthed "I'm a little hungover, so I don't care" and grabbed another bran muffin for good measure (and its inherent alcohol soaking properties).

Before taking her seat at the tables that were arranged in a large U-shape, she got a small cup of coffee, with two creams and two sugars. I followed behind her, but wasn't keen on muffins - I'd just read the stats on how much fat is in those things and was trying to pretend I was on a health kick - and settled for the fruit, yogurt and granola instead. Coffee and water, and I was set.

The meeting was long, arduous and typical. Besides Sue's muffins, there wasn't anything big on the table. We, the agency folks in the suits, were pleased with the Board's approval of the new marketing plan, so the day was off to a great start. My boss and I were finished, and needed to get back to the deadlines in the office, so we were going to head back to the city. I looked at Sue, and she indicated that she had booked a separate, smaller meeting following the Board, so she was going to stay and would keep my car. Not a problem, as long as she returned it to the Enterprise before coming back to the office.

My boss and I left, and were back in the city in under an hour. Smooth sailing.

More than four hours pass, and I kept wondering why Sue hadn't come back yet. Her separate meeting was only to be an hour - and we knew that her particular client wasn't going to have much more than that to give in his busy schedule - so why wasn't she back yet? A fleeting thought, but noted all the same.

And then she arrived.

In a different outfit than what she'd left in that morning. I was just sure of it. She'd been in a black suit, pants and jacket, and a red collared shirt underneath. Now, under her winter coat and scarf, she had on jeans and a sweater.

I was confused. Had she gone shopping on her way back south? Stopped for a quick change at her house?

And then I saw the look on her face.

She slipped into the office that I shared with Kristen, and closed the door. The look on her face told us that she was somewhere between stifling a laugh and suffering extreme mortification. I didn't realize the latter just yet.

And then she began telling her story.

Sue, following her breakfast of champions of two extra-large bran muffins and a medium sized coffee, had had the drive of her life back to the city. The worst drive of her life, that is.

She felt the gurgling deep in her stomach while she met with the other client following the Board meeting. Luckily, the client talked loudly and didn't hear the audible argument going on inside her digestive system. The bran muffins clearly weren't the wisest choice from the breakfast buffet.

It wasn't until the meeting adjourned, promptly at the hour's mark, when Sue was walking back to the rental car registered in my name, that she felt a little more than gurgling. She felt a tad bit icky. Convinced it would pass, she got into the car and slowly left the parking lot and headed south to the city. The drive, on a good day, takes about 40 minutes. Just enough time to clear her head before making it back to the OH MY GOD GURGLING.

Frantic, she looked left, right and in the rearview mirror. She knew she had to find a bathroom, and quickly. It was one of THOSE situations.

Seeing no exits coming up, and knowing that the smaller four-lane road was going to quickly become a highway into the city, she OH MY GOD GURGLING. Now it was like something was erupting within her bowels. Deep and troubling were the noises, and the feelings, that emitted from her stomach.

She swerved off to the side of the road and slowed the rental car to a stop. She couldn't believe she was about to do this, but she had no choice. The muffins were coming out.

[I really, really, really don't think I could have done this. But, given the circumstances, I'm not sure what other choice she had.]

Leaving the car running, with the hazards on, she raced into the light woods that edged the highway. She ducked behind a tree, and felt the immediate OH MY GOD GURGLING relief of having taken steps towards healing the monster within her posing as two digested extra-large bran muffins.

I know that this is disgusting, but keep in mind that as she was telling us this story, she was somewhere caught between howling from laughter and howling from crying. So were we, as we listed, mouths agape. Frankly, I was already nearing that hysterical place where laughter is paired with tears pouring down my face - but I couldn't even believe how this story was going to go.

And go it did.

#2. On the side of the road. In a business suit. In December. With very few leaves on the trees, and snow around her ankles. Boots sinking into the wet ground cover, she copped a squat right there in North Chicago.

Clearly she wasn't carrying Charmin in her coat pocket, so it was a grab and go situation. She zipped up and ran, split-legged and hobbly from the embarrassment and the pain in her stomach, ran back to the car.

She decided that in this case, going well above the speed limit was not only acceptable, it was required. For God's sake, she needed to be home.

Shaking her head, she kept driving, careening between cars and listing from one lane to the left as if she was drunk off more than fiber, she made slight headway OH MY GOD GURGLING and realized that the worst was not over.

Frantic, Sue assessed her options. The bear in the woods thing wasn't for her, so she zoomed off at the next exit. Now that the highway had expanded into a typical 4-lane-divided-by-a-cement-median type, she had more options when it came to exits. She peeled off at the next one, and swerved right towards the first business she saw.

Her choices were clear. A factory, a mechanic and a hotel. Hotels have bathrooms in the lobby, she thinks with overzealous glee.

[At this point, her voice was nearing fever pitch as she regaled us with the play-by-play. We were balled up on the floor dying laughing at this point, just trying not to wet our pants to add insult to injury.]

Coming in hot and coasting on two wheels, she brought the car to a sudden stop in the turn-about driveway by the lobby front door. Again, she left the car running and the door likely hanging wide open - she didn't care anymore about that damn car - and leapt out of the vehicle. The sudden movement was not a good idea, clearly.

As she rose, the OH MY GOD GURGLING got worse and she realized that as she took her third step towards the front door, the #2 bathroom, the runny variety, was now running down her legs. Inside her expensive suit pants. Into her boots.

She ran - shouting "WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?!?" to the poor unsuspecting hotel employee behind the chest-high registration desk. Not waiting for an answer, she stutter-stepped one way, and then seeing the plastic wall sign with the gender-specific visual cues, she raced to the right. Not before slip-sliding on her own, well, excrement.

It had now made its way out her pant legs and onto the floor in tiny, lingering drips.

Glancing down, she ignored the visible sign of her shame, and kept running. Relieved to have made it to the safety of a real bathroom, she slammed shut the green MDF door and gave up on the latch. She pulled down her pants to realize the disaster that was her appearance, and her gastrointestinal state.

Mopping up the mess with toilet paper, she panicked. She didn't think there was any salvaging the underwear at this point, and took them off and threw them away. Using as much TP as was possible, she tried to remedy the situation without much success. The pants were covered, wet and smelled horrible, as you can (and don't want to) imagine.

[Don't forget, I swear on my mother that this is true, as it was told to me, and I have no reason to believe it isn't true. Bear with me. If you're not gagging yet.]

In her panic, Sue decided that her winter coat was long enough to cover her assets, if you will, if she were to lose her pants. Literally.

So, that's what she did. She took off her pants. Everything was bare below the waist except for her knee high winter boots. Her wool coat was the pea coat variety, not the floor length kind, so it wasn't hiding much. But, she didn't care. She was in the northern 'burbs and knew no one.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

She cleaned up herself and the area, and decided to venture back out. At top speed, while holding down the bottom edges of her coat as best she could.

Spotting the, well, evidence of her visit on the floor, she jumped and dodged them and just bolted back to the car. Which, need I remind you, is a rental. In my name.

Seated back in the relative safety of her car, she left the parking lot in a full speed ahead kind of mode. Headed straight home to change clothes. And at least put on pants.

At this point, nearing literal hysteria, Sue realizes that no one is going to believe her story. Not one person would truly believe that she'd TAKEN OFF HER PANTS and left them in the garbage at a Renaissance Inn in North Chicago.

Unless she had proof.

Which is when she pulled out her cell phone, aimed it at her lap, properly positioned her wool scarf to cover anything offensive, and photographed her naked-as-a-bluejay-bare legs, scarf strategically placed, and coat hem, sitting just below the bottom circle of the steering wheel.

I promise. I saw it myself.

[I'm sure you can picture the scene in the office now - door closed, Kristen and I rolling around on the floor, clutching our stomachs, grabbing for the phone to see the evidence, and tears making total wrecks of our faces. We couldn't even contain ourselves. I'm pretty sure we were screeching.]

As if that wasn't bad enough, the bran muffins from hell had packed one more punch.

She sped onto the highway, made it past a few exits, and OH MY GOD GURGLING and tears began to roll down Sue's face. She couldn't believe that this was happening. I'm fairly certain she was using expletives that, if repeated, would amp this post up to a Rated R label. At top volume.

All I could say was, "Are you kidding me?" over and over in that 'sarcastic because I know you're telling me the truth because who would make up this horrifying story about themselves' kind of way.

The next exit was upon her, and she steered the car off the exit ramp and at full speed, turned it into the first business she spotted.

An Animal Hospital.

The parking lot was small, and unusually crowded for midday on a Tuesday, but she squeezed in and left the car in park right out front. She raced through the front door, and at fever pitch yelled, "Do you have a bathroom?!?!" in that 'I'm a crazy woman wearing no pants with poop on my boots so don't mess with me' style that was now the norm.

The poor kid at the front desk stood, mouth hanging wide open, and just pointed towards the back of the room. She ran, naked butt and all, into the bathroom and took care of business. Again.

With nothing left to leave behind but her insides, dignity and pride, she made it out of the bathroom to find a woman entering the waiting area with her two dogs leashed walking in front of her. Catching what I must assume was a whiff of Sue's, well, breakfast, they excitedly jumped up and tried to lick, kiss and nip at her legs as she high-jumped them and made it to the door, not without pulling a Sharon Stone for all to see.

She made it to the car. Embarrassment was no longer even on the table. This had slid quite a bit farther into sheer and terrifying mortification, and couldn't possibly get worse. Right?

Wrong.

As she yanked the rental car into reverse, she was too frantic to do a full cursory check of the surrounding area.

SMASH.

She had backed into a car parked behind her. In a full-on, total tizzy of a state of mind, the normally law-abiding, polite citizen Sue just did what most of us would have done in this situation.

Hauled ass.

[Bare ass, but still.]

Luckily for Sue, the gurgling was over. Finished.

Without further incident, she made it home to her north side apartment. Ran inside. Took off the remaining articles of clothing, put every item in a bag and tied it tight. Showered. Changed into the sweater and jeans that would make an appearance later, and walked back outside.

[Pretttttty sure at this point I would have said, 'Screw it. This day is done.' and gone back inside to bed.]

But, the day was not over, and we were on a deadline. Sue knew that.

And, she wanted to tell us her story.

On the way to the car, she walked into her neighborhood dry cleaners, dropped the tied-closed bag of clothes on the counter, and said, as more of an announcement than an apology, "A dog shit on me. Sorry." Left her name and walked out.

Keep in mind, she still had to return to the same rental car where the gurgling had occurred. I didn't even dare ask the question that may be on your mind about, uhm, stains on the seats. She didn't offer that information up, and at this point, I think she'd done well to share the gory details of the saga.

I did ask her, though, what happened when she got to Enterprise to return the car. She said, in her cool way, "You know how it goes. You pull up, and get out. They charged your credit card. Not so sure about the rear bumper though. It was pretty banged up."

After the laughing and crying and screeching and mortification on her behalf came to a slow, shuddering halt, I finally did ask her if she'd gotten a receipt for the rental that I could turn in with my expenses.

And, she said, with a smile, "For that piece of shit? No way."

And walked out of the room.

Needless to say, I've never looked at a bran muffin the same way ever again. And I certainly haven't helped myself to one. You've been warned.

*Names have been changed to protect the digestively challenged. I think she was already embarrassed enough. Lucky for me (or her?) we are no longer in touch and frankly, I'm fine with that. Story's told.