The Shittiest Day

Sometimes when anxiety hits at work and I don’t want to take any more medicine, Sheila will kindly offer me her natural product:

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This magic potion that fizzes in hot water.

The first time she gave it to me was like heaven upon earth. As I sipped its warmth, I could feel the jitters melting away into the abyss. Even my colon relaxed. It relaxed a lot. See, this bewitched elixir’s primary ingredient is ionic magnesium citrate. I knew magnesium can work miracles for those who suffer from occasional constipation.

I took my lunch break and sat in my car. I took my lunch break and shat in my car.

It was an accident, obviously. I wasn’t quite sure what happened at first. I thought it would dissipate into the air. It lingered, a little too long. I quickly went back into the building and made a beeline to the restroom. There was no saving this, not here at work. I had to go home.

I headed straight to Ms. Frances’s office, but the big boss, Mr. Wilbur, coffee mug in hand as usual, caught me in the hallway. My cheeks were clenched as I trotted hurriedly. He smiled and asked how my day was going. I told him it was good, but that actually I was leaving because I had a stomach bug. He asked if I was sure. I said, “Yes, I’m sure,” my face beet red. I started laughing. I just couldn’t help it. He gave me a knowing look and went into his office. I approached Ms. Frances as she was sitting at her desk and explained to her the same thing, hoping against hope there was no odor. If there was, it would stick around because she wasn’t out in the open like everyone else. Ms. Frances has her own office. I quickly signed my leave form and slid it back to her.

As I was leaving the office, I noticed Sheila in the break room. I smiled and whispered loudly, pointing to the troubled area, “I’M GOING HOME! I JUST SHIT MYSELF!”

And I did.

Yours in God-awful situations,

I.W.

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