The IBS Diaries Vol. 22

Intern DC 12/11/2019 4:30 PM

Welcome back all to another week of 2 minute whistles and long form shit jokes. Haven’t been reading many success stories in the inbox lately and it seems like we’re continuing the streak since today’s vicim is leading off with “I was going on a first date with a girl I met a work.” Poor guy’s about to get Karen’ed.

It was about two months after I moved to Denver a while back when I was going on a first date with a girl I met at work. We both lived close to downtown but on opposite sides of the city so we decided to meet for drinks and some bowling at Lucky Strike which is in the very touristy 16^th Street mall section of the city.

I’m no Hitch when it comes to dating advice, but if you shit where you eat don’t be surprised if you get a little sick. Happens to the best of us. Start touchin’ up the resumé.

Before the date my roommate (who I’m convinced poisoned me) asked if she could make me dinner. I thought this was weird since she knew I had a date but it wasn’t a dinner date so I agreed and ate with her. Shortly after, I hopped on the bus that would bring me close to the Lucky Strike. It was then when I had massive pains in my stomach that came and went in the short time I was on the bus.

There are worse things out there than reporting from a bus post-warning shot. You’re able to scope out a 180 view of restroom options while the bus driver is running over cars and zig-zaging bicyclists towards the next new lineup. If you’re gonna be on the road during an emergency like this the bus may actually be #1 method of transportation. Maybe even over an ambulance. Hopping off prematurely is gonna put you $2.25 in the hole, but it’s worth it every time to be able to immediately jump out without having to worry about parking or killing anybody with your vehicle.

I knew I was in trouble when I started sweating but I thought I could make it. When I stood up to get off at the 16^th Street mall it was difficult to move at a pace I knew I needed to maintain in order to make it to the bathroom. I started panicking as I slowly hobbled down the tourist filled street. I was looking down every alley to try and let it out behind a garbage can or something. The problem with that is that Denver has a lot of homeless people and the alleys were filled with them. I couldn’t bring myself to unload while they watched so I carried on.

If anyone gets it, it’s homeless people. Those poor men and women poo outside every morning. They wouldn’t have batted an eye. But I get the stage fright aspect of it.

When I made it to the place where Lucky Strike was I realized it was up a couple levels from the street and I would have to go up the stairs to make it to my destination. At this point I was basically hobbled over in pain clenching my cheeks with every last bit of energy I could muster to make it. I made it to the top. I got to within a few feet of the glass door. I locked eyes with the hostess. And then it happened. I can’t imagine the look of fear and panic in my eyes but the hostess had a front row seat for what would be the most awkward release of my life.

I never understood how someone could shit themselves and not make it to a bathroom before this moment but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. My brain was paralyzed with disbelief. Is this happening? This can’t be happening. It is happening. The flood gates were open. I was shitting myself uncontrollably as the hostess stared in wonder through the door. I’m not sure she knew exactly what was happening in the moment but she knew I wasn’t right. Shit was flowing out of my boxers down my legs and at that moment I didn’t know what else to do besides run. I ran down the stairs and through one of the busiest pedestrian streets in the city with shit falling out of the bottom of my pants not knowing if I should cry or laugh like a crazy person at my misfortune. I was running aimlessly with no hope that this situation would end in any other way besides a complete public shaming with me streaking home and that was when I saw a Starbucks.

I ran into the bathroom and basically took a bath in their sink and hand washed my pants and shit covered shoes as best I could. Had to toss my boxers and socks as they were trashed. Problem solved right? Nope. I still had a date that I was now late for. Called and tried to cancel but couldn’t think of any excuse when my panic filled brain came up with the only thing I could think of. There were horses with carriages that brought people around the 16^th street mall so I told her I slipped in a big pile of horse shit and fell in it and would need to go home because my jeans were ruined. She said no big deal I’m walking by a gift shop I can grab some pants.

Probably the worst reply you could have gotten. You need time to regroup after you shit yourself. A couple hours of grieving then you’re good to go. Even if he really did back-flop on horse poo, you still gotta call it a night after that.

So me feeling guilty about bailing last minute agreed and put on my soaking wet still somewhat shit covered jeans back on and walked to the store where she was at so I could pick out the pants. As I walked to the store I was experiencing the worst chafing I ever felt in my life so when I got to the store I wasn’t leaving until I had new pants on. The problem was the only pants they had were mens small sweatpants and womens large sweat pants so I had to go with the womens large. Most comfortable pair of sweatpants I’ve ever owned by the way but were very thin and I wasn’t wearing any underwear. So I wrapped my sweater around my waist to cover my junk and somehow enjoyed the rest of my date.

Nothing wrong with cross-dressing in this scenario. There’s a time and place for everything. The sweater around the waist here may be blowing your cover by doing too much. It’s like getting caught for throwing a party because the house is too clean after. Plus, based off of female twitter, I’ve seen that girls drool over the gray sweat pant look. Just say you’re going old school boxer, no brief. Don’t hide the d, that’s why girls like boys at the end of the day. Let that thing breathe.

She thought my made up horse story was hilarious and it was actually the perfect ice breaker even though it was a lie. We dated for a couple months after. I told my friends from back home the real story and she told her friends and family my fabricated version of the story. Everyone loved it. It was a month or so after when my friends from home visited and we were all together having some drinks and walking the same street I shit myself when one of my dickhead friends pointed to a horse with the carriage and said “look they have shit catchers under their ass. How did you fall in shit?” I don’t know if she caught on in that moment but she never questioned it. Kinda wish I told her.

The things we wish we could have said. Shout out to Paul from New Jersey for the closest thing to a love story that we may ever read in this series.

With Christmas right around the corner, send in any holiday related diaries to djconrad41@gmail.com or via direct message to @DannyJConrad. Thanks for coming out today everyone, until next chapter.

Old entries:

IBS Diaries Vol 5: Blizzard Beach

IBS Diaries Vol 6: Hotel HotBox

IBS Diaries Vol 7: Hand Soap Showers

IBS Diaries Vol 8: Fried Egg Run

The IBS Diaries Vol. 9: The IBS Queen

The IBS Diaries Vol. 10

The IBS Diaries Vol 11: Chinese Takeout Takedown