Oh good, we're at the beginning of the story. This is my favorite part of the story, because it is neither horrifying nor embarrassing. Not like the ending, which is both of those things, and more. Well, not really more, just horrifying and embarrassing. I shouldn't really even write about it, but the beginning is so peaceful and relaxing, I feel like I have no choice but to share all of it with you. But if I were you, I would stay here as long as I could, because this is the part you'll want to remember, and definitely not the ending, which is coming. Slowly but surely, like the slow current of a peaceful river... which, coincidentally, is where this story begins (see what I did there?).
Yes, a nice peaceful river, in a nice but not-so-peaceful California town known as Chico. That's where I was floating.
Of course, I don't mean floating the way most people mean it, where some pud is just bobbing up and down in water like a real idiot. No, I mean it in the way that the great people of Chico State mean it, which is far far better. You see, to float in Chico means to be drinking heavily while safe and snug on top of a cozy inner-tube, as it makes it's way down the river. You can spend hours just floating, surrounded by friends who are doing the same. It's beautiful, man.
And the best part is, when you come to the end of the float, you reach a place called Beer Can Beach, a magical place where everyone parties and plays together.
I'm getting weepy just thinking about it.
But things can't stay magical forever, as I learned that day during the ride back to my friend's apartment.
For it was on the ride back from Beer Can Beach when things took a turn for the worst. That was when I realized that I really, really had to poop. This was both alarming and confusing, because while I did drink a lot that day (I was beyond drunk by that point), I didn't eat anything, at least I couldn't remember eating anything. This injustice really angered me, and I screamed as much to my friends in the car.
"This is bullshit! I didn't eat anything!"
"What?" They responded.
"I said I didn't eat anything!"
"OK, so what?"
"So... why do I have to poop!"
"What?! You have to poop? Randy, you're not making any sense."
"I know it doesn't make any sense. Why should I have to poop if I didn't eat anything? Tell me."
But of course, they couldn't. For it was a question that had no answer. Actually no, it had an answer, and I could feel that answer pressing down harder and harder on my stomach with every mile we drove. I could feel that answer seeping out of my pants in little clouds of gas which then polluted the car. That answer, of course, was that I had to poop, and I had to poop soon, and nothing else mattered.
By the time we made it back to the apartment I had ruined some friendships. No, I didn't poop in the car, but I did stink it up to an unforgivable point. But I didn't care, I didn't care about anything except pooping. So I ran out of the car, ran up the apartment building stairwell, barged through the door, found the bathroom, slammed the bathroom door, got into position, and let 'er rip.
Then there was great battle between good and evil. It was a very unfair battle. Like evil-is-a-hurricane-and-good-is-the-small-rural-town-in-its-path kind of unfair. Suffice to say, there were noises made in that bathroom that can never be made again, that should never be made again.
It was a long battle, too. So long there was even a break in the middle. Think of it as the eye-of-the-storm, where half the hurricane has gone through, and now all is very peaceful, but everyone in town knows what's about to come next.
It was during the eye of the storm that I received a text. It was text from one of my former friends. It simply read: where did you go?
And that's when I heard a voice outside the bathroom door, a voice that I did not recognize, a voice that sounded like it belonged to a nice, young female. A voice that asked: "Is someone in our bathroom?" This voice was followed by another voice, also young and female: "Yeah, I think so. I heard...noises in there."
And then I left the eye of the storm, and braced myself for the last half of the Hurricane. And this time it was going to be worse, because now I had an audience to deal with. An audience that demanded answers, but there was only one answer to give. And it was a dark, dark answer.
Now, I may have muttered something from the bathroom at this point, I don't really remember. All I remember is a lot of painful straining of the muscles, followed by desperate groans and pleas for mercy.
Once it was finally done, I debated as what to do next. I looked for any windows that could offer escape, but there were none. I toyed with the idea of wrapping one of the bath towels around my head and then running out of the bathroom as fast as I could so they could never know the face of the monster that desecrated their apartment.
In the end I decided that I had to face the music. I had to go out to those girls, look them in the eyes and say "Look, I made a mistake and pooped a lot in the wrong apartment. I am terribly sorry."
It wasn't going to be easy, but after the hell I just went through... it still was going to be pretty awful experience.
But I bite my lip, opened the door, and saw two very cute coeds staring right at me with horror in their eyes.
Suddenly, as I looked at them, and they looked right back at me, I remembered that I had not washed my hands. What the hell is wrong wtih me? I thought. What kind of sick person doesn't remember to wash their hands in this kind of situation? But then I calmed myself down. At least I remembered to flush...didn't I? My inebriated brain was having trouble remembering. I must have flushed, right? Yes... I think. Did I flush? I don't fucking remember. Come on brain, you have to remember.
But my brain was not on my side that day, and neither were the two coeds.
I didn't give my prepared speech, I couldn't, not when there was a strong possibility that there was still a mountain of ungodliness still floating in the room behind me.
So instead, I made a break for it. I don't know if they said anything as I left, but I remember hearing the words you bastard, you unimaginable bastard. I'm not sure if it was the girls who said that though, or just my brain, letting me know what a terrible person I was.
And now you all know the real me, and that's too bad. But if there is anything else you should take away from this story it's this: Go floating in Chico. It's amazing. Just remember that it might make you have to poop, even if you didn't eat anything. (I'm still kinda mad about that...)