A million years ago in the 1980’s.
It was a camping weekend.
There were three of us. Don, Pam and myself.
As was the tradition, the first night, we usually either went into the nearby college town of Whitewater Wisconsin to drink Sidewinders and play pool OR we’d sit around the campfire drinking copious amounts of Point beer, which is what we did this time. This activity of shooting the breeze and killing brain cells went well into the night, until finally, it was off to sleep in our voluminous tent.
But at 3AM, all was not well, as I awoke to such a clatter in my bowels.
Now, for the record, my bowels are usually locked up tight during a weekend camping trip, at least until Sunday, because among other things, I’m not a huge fan of using the outhouses. Especially not staring down into the abyss beyond the rim in your standard outhouse in the broad daylight. Going in there at night? Ha.
So I had quite the dilemma. Not only was it 3am and my bowels were raging, but it was pitch black in the tent. I literally could not see my hand in front of my face. Usually, when camping, you might get some moonlight helping you out but not here. Nothing, zilch, nada. I’m not sure if we even had a flashlight, if so, where it might have been, or where Don and Pam were positioned in the tent and I didn’t want to trip on them. I wish I could have gone back to sleep but the unfortunate taste in my mouth, the ache in my head and the unnatural disaster building in my lower abdomen would not allow that. Although I couldn’t find a flashlight, the roll of toilet paper I thought to bring on the trip was in my case, next to me, so I was able to feel that out. I really didn’t want to wake the others — I hate waking people up — so I reasoned that if I can just get outside the tent, I should get some type of illumination. It had to be a bit lighter outside the tent, right? Wrong.
Blindly managing to zip up the tent, exit and zip down (security), I took a minute to orient myself. I could not *believe* it was still this dark. Had I drunk myself blind? No, didn’t think so. I had to basically go by memory as to where the chairs and the campfire was, where the trees were and a possible trail I could take to do what I had to do. I knew the campfire and center of our little civilization was forward and to my right, so I headed off to the left, blindly feeling ahead of me, walking carefully, slowly. There was a slight breeze but other than that, and the occasional scurrying sounds in the distance, it was fairly quiet. I felt and then passed this tree and that, progressing along and only when I felt I got a decent distance away from the camp but not *too* far away so as to be unable to retrace my steps, I stopped. I don’t think I could have been more than 20 feet into the woods but at least it was away from camp. Did what needed to be done. Toilet paper. I honestly can’t remember what I did with the toilet paper. Remember, I was not at my sharpest, so whether I flung it further into the woods (although I’m not big on littering) or simply wrapped up the offending bunch in a cleaner wraparound for later disposal, I can’t remember.
I then slowly stumbled back in the direction I came, eventually found the tent without falling into it, zipped up, entered, zipped down (security), located my sleeping bag, settled in and slept like a baby for another four hours or so, content in my accomplished mission.
I don’t remember who woke up first. Might have been Don, as, when I came out of the tent, I was greeted with a disturbing sight a few feet in front of me on the ground. Don elaborated. “There’s big pile of shit right next to the campfire. Look it that!”
WHAT. IN. HOLY. HELL. Somehow, someway, I walked for what I thought was five minutes into the woods to safely take a dump in anonymity but in reality, I was five feet away from the tent? And did it right where we all walked? How was that even possible? Well, I said I wasn’t at my sharpest at 3am with a hangover. That was an understatement.
DO I have a good poker face? I’ll say yes. Because I managed to convincingly say “Jesus!” and express astonishment. Now, had I gotten up first and seen it, if I had time, I could have somehow gotten rid of it but that didn’t happen.
Now, the two us just sat there, with the type of early morning hangovered mental fuzziness where you really don’t want to do much of anything, but pondering the origins of a mystery lump of shit in your midst — that you can do. There were stretches of silence, as I was just cataloging my hidden embarrassment about my public embarrassment. After a certain amount of time, I thought it best if I just came clean to Don. He’d probably laugh, Pam will never see it, we can get rid of it, move on.
As I was about to confess, out of the tent comes Pam, who’s greeting by Don reporting “Pam, look, some animal took a giant shit!” Which she marveled at and I froze up solid. Now Pam saw it. Dear, gentle Pam. Staring at my leavings. I couldn’t say anything. Just sat there. The minutes passed. All three of us sat there, recuperating, looking into the distance. After a bit, I thought that no, just say it. They’ll both probably laugh, we’re all friends here and it doesn’t have to go any farther. As I worked up the courage to say something, Don had an observation:
“Maybe it was a big dog…?” and this was enough to shut me up again, as now different animals were being considered as the culprits or vandals. We figured at some point, we’ll have to somehow get rid of it. “Don’t think it’s big enough to be a bear, right?” Don was full of theories. Now, something like a half hour, or 45 minutes had passed and were were starting to move around about a bit, ready to start the day, and I once again wondered if I should say anything at all, when Pam got up.
Started walking toward the tent.
In her flip flops.
Not quite looking where she was going.
And partially stepped in IT.
And flung part of IT up on her leg.
And Don hurriedly took a picture of it.
And with that, I resolved never to say anything. No way in HELL was I about to confess now. Nuh uh. No, no, no, I was going to be Silent Sam. The offended pile was ejected, Pam’s leg was washed and the weekend continued. I never said anything. Life went on.
I stayed silent for the better part of 20 years out of sheer embarrassment. I never told *anyone*, not even Lin. The flip flop maneuver sealed my fate and my silence. And even then, after two decades, when I confessed, I did so to Don and the rest of the gang at a party at Pam and Mike’s house but *not* to Pam (she was hosting elsewhere in the house). My shame was too great. Upon my confession, amidst the laughter, Don yelled “I KNEW IT!” but he could just never be certain enough to say anything. But I finally had that off my chest.
A few years later at another event, I actually did fess up to Pam. I had to unburden myself.
She didn’t even remember the incident.
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