How to not shit yourself on a tube
Just find a toilet dipshit
Introduction
I’m kidding, but here’s a time when I fell short, and the choice was no longer possible. Like most incidents, it came through no fault of my own and was entirely preventable. If only I’d followed my New Year’s resolutions for a healthy diet and done Dry January. Mainly because even after one pint, my bad decisions have a higher probability of happening. The bad decisions are masked by the fun of doing them.
I could probably just grow up and treat my commute as an A to B, and a B to A on the way home, but where’s the fun in that when I could visit every letter of the alphabet. By around T, I do wish it was over, but you can’t have fun without a little shitness. No pun intended, although I don’t hate it. It works where it is. I shouldn’t have to let it go. Probably something I should’ve kept in, like the rest of this story.
Anyway, let’s begin. This time, I was on my way to work, so anything that could happen, I had enough time to sort out before I got there. Being early means I can relax more in the morning and mentally reflect on that morning’s trauma.
So, OK. I was in the zone. Picture me striding past all the other morons walking off the train. At some point, I’ll do a debrief and checklist on how to get off a train without being a wanker. The gist of it is, don’t walk into someone else’s path, or maybe check once or twice where the fuck you’re going.
Sorry
I’ll say sorry now to the people I barged past trying to get to the barriers, it wasn’t my fault you didn’t see me, therefore me barging into you was OK as our actions cancelled out. Not the first time I’ll use the quote “eye for an eye,” won’t be the last either. I need to apologise later for the actions, yet it’s best if I do it, the less guilty I shall feel.
I got through the barrier with ease and made it down towards the tube. I was swift, jamming to my music (some Rachmaninov if you were wondering). I find classical music on a walk is often the best for speed and efficiency, mainly because you can’t sing along. Containing all the breath for each stride.
I made it to the platform just as the doors swung open. I jumped right into my normal position. Note that my back was against the door connecting through the carriages, the one that only James Bond is allowed to jump through. I’m sure you can give it a go, but I don’t think you’ll reach your destination, unless it’s your final destination. It’s also unlikely you’ll find a place to sit if that’s the reason for your sudden departure from my carriage.
So I was standing there waiting for the tube to depart, and then a firework exploded inside my stomach. It was wild. I felt a punch square to my intestines, and I knew it was a bad situation.
A bit of backstory, the night before was a long night of fun. Not a lot of alcohol, but a lot of really weird food choices, sushi, Wotsits, and a sprinkling of sweet snacks mixed with a sturdy curry. It was a very exotic tasting menu, you could say. I don’t regret those choices, as it was fun in the moment and that’s all I wanted. Whatever the aftermath…
It can wait till after my evening.
Another bit of information which is helpful but obvious. I was wearing jeans and black socks. Any other choice would have left me in a position of,
no return.
I was standing still, out of harm’s way, but I knew something was coming to hit me. Nothing physical. I wasn’t in danger, only embarrassment. I made an executive decision to tuck my jeans into my socks so I could make sure there was no leakage. I questioned using duct tape to make sure nothing would leak out, although I realised this would have drastically undermined my discretion, so I forged ahead.
I made it to Bank. I knew after we would leave the station it would hit. I questioned running off the train to find a toilet, but I don’t know Bank well, and I think it’s worse to shit yourself on a platform than it is on a tube. You can’t escape the platform, but at least the tube keeps moving on.
Doors opened. The tube’s not mine. Ten seconds passed, and the doors closed and we set off. Then it started. The socks worked a treat and it all sort of pooled up down there. If I had white socks or was wearing shorts, I wouldn’t be any better than the guy I once saw go skin to the wind and pull down his trousers on a seat and proceed to let a few go. He had some solid confidence, unlike me, who couldn’t produce anything solid with confidence.
The doors opened to Moorgate. I waddled off. I knew people would notice my waddle, but they probably would have noticed the smell first if I stayed on the tube. I went and sat on a bench and breathed for a good five minutes before looking for a toilet. A train of bad decisions that left me in a truly remarkable situation. Luckily by this point I have no shame. From being sick on the tube to falling down an escalator, nothing can surprise me.
Just another thing to cross off the bucket list, obviously shitting myself on a tube wasn’t on my bucket list in the first place, but it did happen, and now gives me an advantage in Never Have I Ever or a good icebreaker to knock out at a networking event. One of the few positives from the situation.