I had a friend for many years. His name was Zach. He taught me to drink coffee as a tool to regulate my poops. I appreciated the information and have been implementing it ever since. Morning coffee followed by morning poop. As I get older and post the removal of my gallbladder, it’s now usually morning poop 1,2 and 3.
But that’s boring. I’d rather tell you a funny poop story and for some reason I have many. I’ll start with the most recent. Up until Covid-2020 forced change, my routine was pretty mellow. I would wake up, have coffee with my girlfriend and then go to Starbucks, the least smokey best coffee shop I could find in Izmir, Turkey, get a coffee, write and work for a while using their WiFi.
On this day, Aysegul left for work and I slowly got ready to go. I left the apartment. It’s a half mile over a steep hill walk to the metro and then one stop, and there is Starbucks at the top of the escalator.
I made it out to the street and halfway up the hill before the rumbling of a poop began. Usually, I don’t know about you, I have a 10-30 minute window of ‘it’s okay to wait.’ So I pressed on. Up the hill and halfway down the descent towards the metro station.
It hit. I did not have 30 minutes to wait. But the uphill and downhill walk back home were out of reach. So I continued on to the metro.
At the bottom of the steps, the first ‘uh-oh you gotta go cramp’ kicked in and I stopped for a minute before heading into the station. My thinking was that I only had a 100 steps to the toilet plus ten minutes to get there as opposed to the walk home which was sure to end poorly.
On the train the sweats hit and the cramps continued. I was in dire need of a toilet and time had slowed to a standstill.
The train pulled into the station and I departed. So far so good just clenching and sweating and trying to make it up to the toilet.
The escalator brought me to the street. Only 100 ft more and I would be relieved.
I made it to the patio. I opened the door and the cooled air hit my face drying some of the sweat instantaneously.
I walked past the counter and to the small flight of stairs clenching and awkward.
I took one step, two step, three, step four and I didnt make it. It just wanted out more than I wanted to keep it in.
I waddled into the toilet and cleaned the best I could removing and trashing a pair of underwear.
I was oddly satisfied that I had made it that far. On the train or on the street would have been a whole different story. 5 steps from the toilet. That’s close enough.
I went downstairs, ordered a coffee, tried to write but in the end gave up. The smell was too much. I went home to shower and change my clothes and then went on with my day.