Picture it, Coolidge, Arizona 1990. A sprightly young lad wearing his favorite Spuds McKenzie t-shirt, not unlike most kindergartners who enjoy an animal spokesperson for his beer, finds himself walking with the rest of West Elementary to the auditorium for some sort of performance.
It was a warm day not unlike today, with blue skies and what not. Not a care in the world, until, I felt that rumble in my tumble that let me know that this little tamale needed to hit up the boys' bathroom, stat. My blatantly lesbian teacher Ms. Herrera wasn't available to take us so we had the school's resident crone, Mrs. Reed, accompany the class. Once they herded all the kinder into the auditorium I made my move towards that old crone and asked if I could go to the bathroom but much to my chagrin, I was rejected, cold school style! She looked at me as if I had just asked her if I could use her lap as a litter box. I now wish I would have, right down to throwing kitty litter in her boobs and using her face as a scratching post.
Rejected and despondent, I returned to my seat. To my left sat Juan, a quiet boy that was not unlike a moth. To my right sat
LaWill, who, was really proud of his mother's gold teeth. He wanted me to be jealous but I refused. Who doesn't want gold? Not I, especially if it meant looking like a crack addict but I digress. I disliked both boys for separate reasons. So I guess I didn't feel as bad as I should have when it happened. Like many a pregnant woman and those sentenced to death by electric chair, I lost control of my bowels right in the middle of that damn auditorium.
To think, the same year that Nelson Mandela was released from prison is the same year I released myself onto that upholstered seat. I panicked. How does one escape such a precarious situation unscathed and undetected? Light bulb! I would just ask Juan to switch me seats and that would remedy everything. As if, us switching seats meant that suddenly my Batman underpants were poo-free. Let me tell you, it didn't. Sitting there, in the next seat over, I squirmed and wiggled as if I were auditioning for a Preparation H commercial. I probably would have gotten the part.
After sufficiently ruining Juan's seat, I decided that my old seat didn't seem so bad after all. So, we switched back. Always one to be restless, I asked LaWill to give me the old switcheroo too. Sadly, he complied to my ghastly request. Unbeknownst to him, he would not only have to change seat but his pants too upon someone recognizing that a fecal felony had taken place. I must have been very convincing to get kids I disliked to sit in my poo seat. Talent apparent, age 5.
The performance had ended and to this day I couldn't tell you what I had been watching only that I was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, a little left of center. Somehow, we managed to be the last row out of the auditorium which meant I had to make myself the end of the line. Bringing up the rear as some would say, only leaving some behind in the process. So a little white lie about tying my shoe to hold me up from the others was concocted. The thing was, at that point in life, I didn't even know how to tie my shoes but my reputation at West Elementary was on the line. Not that I had one but if I did that would've been the dumps!
To this day I will never understand how I was able to pull that one off without being detected. The shear smell alone would have been an indicator. Did everyone have clogged noses that day? Why wasn't I sick with this mystery nostril affliction? Did everyone go to a party that I wasn't invited to and contracted this problem? Was there cake there? I wonder why I pooped my pants that day? The past always has a funny way of making you ask questions of yourself, no matter how sad (pants pooping) or delicious (the cake question).
Most would have the shit scared out of them in that situation but then again I wasn't most kids and I had already lost some during this journey.
