Neither Rain Nor Sleet ... Nor Crap in her Pants
Neither rain, nor sleet, nor crap in my pants will stop this letter carrier from making her appointed rounds...
In late summer of 2012, I had been dealing with an unexplained weight gain. My thyroid had been removed in 2007, so I should have looked at that first, to see if my medication needed adjustment. But, oh, no; why do things the easy way?
My best friend lost about 25 pounds due to a low-carb diet and
urged me to try it as well. "The pounds will just melt right off,"
she said, forgetting that she has a well-working thyroid that could adjust to diet changes.
Two months later, I had lost eight pounds but felt miserable, tired, and depressed. I ate virtually no carbs, but because I work as a letter carrier, it was tough enough to do my job with no energy reserves.
One day, I was assigned to an all-day walking route: a loop. For you non-postal folk out there, a loop is a block's worth of mail that covers both sides of the street. I had about 20 loops that day, and halfway through this arduous route, I felt like I was about to drop. On top of that, this diet made me churn out some serious farts. Every 10-to-15 minutes, I would emit a Chernobyl-like gas that would have most likely felled anyone right behind me.
With about two more loops to go, I was seriously rethinking this diet and the damage it was doing to my body, not to mention the fact that my worn starfish felt like it had a blowtorch applied to it. I made the fatal mistake of thinking I would just grab a quick energy drink, a low-carb one, in fact: Monster Energy. Raspberry. It tasted terrible. I downed it in a few short gulps. That'll do the trick!
Oh, did it ever.
Halfway through the first of those last two loops, my stomach emitted some warning grumbles, but pressed on, passed some painful gas, and kept moving. Walk, churn, fart.
Walk, churn, fart.
When I reached the last three houses on that loop, a particularly big bubble of gas began to form in my nether regions. Well, better out than in, I thought, and eased the pucker open. A huge jet stream of that cruel, chemical-laced gruel shot forth and created a corrosive puddle in my underpants: a truly disgusting mix that felt like jalapeno juice mixed with very loose chili. Oh, fuck me running with scissors, I thought.
While my security had been breached, I needed to stop any further damage, and so I clenched my bottom shut, cursing myself for being so trusting of a fart. I had suffered from IBS in the past; I knew better! I looked at my watch and saw I had less than 25 minutes to complete my work and be back at the post office to get the outgoing mail on the truck in time. I hustled back in a fast waddle to my truck, did not sit fully down, and drove to the last corner to deliver my last loop. For the first time with my weight gain, I was thankful that my underpants were a bit on the tight side. I walked fast, praying that the puddle of liqui-shit wouldn't reveal itself in a massive stain on my bottom.
I finished, gave my outgoing mail to my supervisor, punched out, and hightailed it to the air-conditioned bathroom. As I sat down and unleashed the rest of my fecal fury in a volcanic burst, I looked down at my underpants. Poor tightie-whities. Destroyed forever.
I got home, threw the brutalized panties out, cleaned myself up, and ate a carb-rich meal, complete with lean meat, grilled vegetables, and a big fluffy sweet potato. Unsurprisingly, the toxic farts were no more, and I didn't have any bowel blowouts after that.
The moral of the story? Don't trust quick fad diets, don't drink energy drinks, and never--ever--trust a fart, even if your previous ones were without any extra sauce.