Not sure if I’ve told this story here or not, probably cos it’s my best anecdote.
I have not soiled myself. BUT I have managed to do something much, much worse.
I found a girl on Tinder (all the best stories start like this) and she lived in Peterborough and was very much up for me coming round to diddle her. It was a 45 minute drive. I did it in 25.
It was a cold, wet and dark October night. I pulled up to her street and it was pitch black, no streetlights. Most of it was still being constructed so it felt like a building site. Was clearly not going to be finished any time soon but a few houses looked to be occupied.
Only a few of the houses had numbers, so I looked around for hers, number 6. I saw number 4, and there was a house across the way that could have been hers but I wasn’t sure. I decided I’d go and investigate some other houses across a stretch of grass to confirm which door I should knock on.
The patch of grass was maybe 30 feet long, and pavement awaited me on the other side. After a few steps on the grass, water started to leak into my trainers, my feet squelching as I went. Gross.
I could have turned back at this point and just walked around the grass. That would have been sensible. But I didn’t. I quickened my pace as I noticed a square of concrete or wood in the middle of the grass that I could stand on and get my bearings.
With each step my feet got more and more soaked, my socks completely drenched. Not a great start to a ‘date’, I’m sure you’ll agree. I walked faster with each stride, desperate to get to the square in the middle.
When I put my foot on the square I realised it was neither concrete or wood. It was cardboard. It was a big, thick bit of cardboard. And it wasn’t on solid ground. No, it was covering water. A big old body of water. And because I was walking so fast, I only registered that it wasn’t solid once my second foot was planted on it.
Down I went.
Down into the icy depths. My entire body.
I was wet from the nape of my neck down to my feet. I hurt my ankle and arm on the way down too. It was FREEZING. I instantly started shivering. The worst. Just the worst.
I’m supposed to be balls deep inside a young lady with questionable taste but here I was gasping for breath in freezing cold water in the middle of a building site.
Things could NOT get worse.
But they did.
That’s when the smell hit me.
It smelled of shit.
It smelled so strongly of shit that I was convinced I was swimming in shit.
I pulled myself up and out of the hole and onto the grass.
Yep, it was shit. I’ve never smelt a shittier smell in all of my life. Definite shit. I was covered head to toe in shit.
Now, what was I supposed to do?
Here were my options:
A) Knock on the girl’s door and ask if I could shower and if she had clean clothes. Humiliating.
B) Drive home in my soaking wet shit clothes and ruin the seats in my car and spend 45 minutes hating myself
C) Take off all my clothes and drive home naked, maintaining the upholstry but at risk of being stopped by police on the way home and being branded a megaperv. On top of this, I was living with my mum at the time and I’d have to dash from my car into her house without being seen by her or neighbours.
I chose option A.
The girl confirmed that I had falled in a temporary septic tank. I was covered in the feces of her and her neighbours.
Bless her, she let me in, popped me in the shower, washed my shoes and gave me some clothes to wear (some men’s clothes that she said were her brothers but I’m unconvinced… she didn’t give me boxers so I had to go commando in another man’s pair of jeans, and I ended up wearing a white t-shirt that was four sizes too small for me and it wasn’t a pretty sight).
I showered with all my might.
We did not have sex. We watched the Simpsons and she made me tea and she took the piss for an hour and then I went home.
Got home and had three showers.
Still felt like I smelled of shit. So much shit.
I have eczema so I’m often covered in tiny little cuts so I figured I could have caught something. Not ideal to bob around in shit even for a minute, is it? Convinced myself that I was gonna have Hep A or something, so I rang NHS Direct.
Told the nice lady on the line the entire story, warts and all. Absolutely made her night. She gathered her colleagues round and put me on speaker and asked me to tell the story again. I did, I had no dignity left to lose.
She told me I was daft for calling in and to only worry about it if I developed any symptoms.
And that’s the story of how I soiled myself in public with other people’s shit.