It was a busy Friday, and I was working hours away from home on a business trip. Work was crazy as we were completing a bank merger and by the end of the week I was tired, poorly fed, and neglecting my digestive system. My body was a dumpster fire of caffeine, fast food, and hotel air conditioning. But that morning, for reasons that even now have me baffled….. I decided to eat a day-old slice of Wegmans cheesecake….

That decision would prove to be the most dangerous gamble of my adult life.

A few hours into the workday, I got the sensations. I chalked it up to a simple lower belly ache, paired with gas that could peel paint off a battleship. I figured I could hold out until the end of the workday for a majestic, private hotel bathroom relaxing shit.

I was wrong.

Spectacularly… Fatefully….WRONG

The First Wave

Leaving my first branch visit, I get into my car for the drive to my next location. Almost immediately, it Hit Me! Not a polite nudge from my belly saying, “Hey, maybe start looking for a toilet.” No… This was a DEFCON 1 bowel alert — the kind of pressure that makes your vision blur and your ears start to ring. The farts were so Nasty that You could taste them, and I worried the resale value of my SUV would decline from the inability to get this odor out of the seats. 

Of course I get an important work call right at the wrong time… so I pulled over to take it. I was trying to sound professional on the phone, but my internal organs began to fail. The call was short, yet it took every shred of focus not to crap right there in the driver’s seat. 

Hanging up, I knew I had minutes…maybe. I Googled “nearest major store bathrooms” and saw my salvation: Wegmans. Only 2.8 miles., 9 minutes.

9 minutes? Could I actually survive a 9 minute drive??? I debated hopping out at the mom & pop gas station I pulled into to take this call, but I quickly opted to make the drive. .

The Final Approach

I flew into Wegmans parking lot on 2 wheels & squealing tires… It was a Busy Lot. People buzzing in and out and walking in front of me- I gripped the wheel and gritted my teeth. I swung into the closest parking spot I could without being too choosy, and prepared to sprint inside. That didn’t happen… it was like my legs were jelly! The Turd must’ve been pushing on my Sciatic nerve and I could only limp along at a slow pace, my legs feeling like pins and needles … I hobbled inside, sweat beading from my forehead, stomach making noises that sounded like horror movie sound effects.. and I could only think – where the hell is this Toilet???

I flagged down an employee, out of breath –  “Where’s your Bathroom pleaseeee?” I croaked. She looked at me with eyes that said, duh…… then she pointed directly above my head at a massive “RESTROOMS” sign. I mustered a half smile and trudged toward the entrance like I imagine a pregnant woman would trudge when she’s 2 weeks past her due date and mad at the world… I was so thankful that I was only 20 ft from relief. Or so I had hoped….

The Chamber

I pushed through the men’s room door and instantly my heart sank.

Small….Packed…Not very Clean!?!?

Two urinals.

One tiny stall.

No privacy WHAT – SO – EVER! 

This is the bathroom I waited for?…. Like it or not – This is where it would happen…..

But this was a bathroom designed for quick business — not the kind of Bomb I was about to drop.

At least the stall was open! Praise be the Lord our God! I dove inside, legs now paralyzed, and drug myself up the side of the of the stall…. 

The Positioning

The seat was splattered with Urine Droplets. The Bowl was tainted with skid tracks…. It was NOT fantastic at all…

I had No choice but to hover! 

Now, picture this:

I’m 6’, man in a tailored two-piece suit. Jacket draped over one arm because there’s nowhere to hang it. Pants around my ankles, floor sticky, with my bare Ass hanging out in open-air, and hovering a good 11 inches above the bowl. My Knees are bent, and legs are shaking from being weak. 

And then…

The Detonation

With a deep, core squeeze, my anus released a sound that could only be described as Thunder rumbling through a tuba. 

The Sound echoed off the walls, amplified by the small space. The entire store had to have heard this…

All of my Shame was Gone. 

This was Survival. Period. 

The Horror

The first wave hit the water like a depth charge — a semi-solid mass of sludge that must’ve weighed 60lbs!! The stench that whofted into the air was ungodly. This was not the smell of a man who had made a dietary mistake. This was the smell of the Cheesecake Apocalypse.

And then, as if the universe wished to deepen my humiliation, I heard more people entering the tiny bathroom…  including a A father and his young son.

The Innocent

“Peeewww, Daddy! What’s that smell?!”

It was me…

God help me, it was me…

The boy began pawing at my stall door, whining, “I have to poop, Daddy!” The father tried to calm him, but I heard the telltale rattle of the handle.

A courtesy flush was my only hope to cut the smell. I pulled the lever — and nothing. The sludge didn’t budge. It just sat there, menacing, like it knew it had won.

More came out – I was mid dookie and it was Hot, semi-solid, volcanic lava.

It splattered, it steamed, it clung to the bowl like it was painted on.

The Battle for the Stall

The father coaxed his son: “Bobby, you have to wait. The man won’t be long.”

You’re wrong buddy….

So, so, so wrong.

I yanked toilet paper and it kept ripping into pieces. I was yanking at it like a man possessed, but the wipes came back filled with chocolate pudding. No matter how much I cleaned, it wasn’t enough.

I flushed again. The mound shifted. A little. The pipe groaned but still not happening and the water just rose.

Through the stall gap I saw Bobby doing the poop dance of desperation. I knew if I didn’t end this soon, the child was going to soil himself… I was dying, and so was this little boy. 

The Final Flush

I had to something! Seconds seemed like minutes, and minutes seemed like eternity…. I whimpered, “Almost done, sorry guys… I’m sick”

I heard the father whisper, “He’s sick, Bobby. Can you hold it?”

Bobby cried, “NO!”

Desperation gave me strength. I held the handle down like my life depended on it. The toilet let out a mighty roar and finally — finally — swallowed the bulk of my unholy creation.

The bowl was clear enough for the boy to use, though still radiating a stench that could wilt flowers.

The Passing of the Torch

I opened the stall door and locked eyes with the father. He looked pale, desperate, a man who had run out of options. Everything was in slow motion. 

We nodded, silently acknowledging the war I had just fought.

Then Bobby barreled past me, pants down, and before I was even fully out of the doorway, he exploded. The sounds were identical to my own a few minutes prior. That toilet… that heroic toilet… was getting worked like a rented mule.

I heard the father say to his son

 “I told you not to eat all that cheesecake!” 

The Aftermath

I washed my hands slowly, partly to give them privacy, partly because I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me up. My gut still churned — I knew Round Two was coming, but the urgency level was gone. 

Walking out, I swore I could still smell the stench from a hundred feet away. The cheesecake had done its damage. My day was over. I returned to my hotel for another battle with the demon pie.

Epilogue

Bobby and his father entered the bathroom at the worst possible moment in history. 

The cheesecake nearly killed me.

Nearly killed both of us..

And the stall nearly broke me.

I learned a lot! Most importantly that Wegmans uses the Sloan Regal toilet which somehow was capable of swallowing a massive Turd pile the size of a Thanksgiving Turkey.  

I learned that day old Cheesecake for breakfast comes with consequences…  Gas is never “Just Gas”…. Always carry wet wipes….  Fathers and Sons bond in strange ways…

And I learned to never judge a book by its cover, because as nice as the retail store is, has no bearing on what the bathrooms may look like.