“When you gotta go, you gotta go.”
The first time I ever heard that phrase, I must have been five or six, still sucking my thumb, and I’ve been living by it ever since. Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park blurts out the classic line minutes before the man, who couldn’t hold it in any longer, rushes to the bathroom to relieve himself of a signature knack of the human condition: the guy had to shit. And this poor guy, not Goldblum, but the other poor guy, resolves to getting devoured by a robotic Tyrannosaurus Rex, all in the process of taking a shit. Moral of the story: if you shit, you’ll die.
In actuality you may not actually die, but die of shame you may. You’re in the busy waiting room of your favorite restaurant, let’s hope it’s not Olive Garden, and you feel it. Your butt hole clenches slightly and inadvertently, you start to contort your body in an attempt to pass it off. But it’s there, plopping and piling down. You’ve scoured and spotted the restroom before you abruptly disappear, muttering in quivering constipation, “Um excuse me,” while dashing for the toilet.
But wait, this is assuming you’re the kind of person who Doesn’t Give A Fuck and abides by Goldblum’s mantra, “When you gotta go, you gotta go.” We all have that friend, Who gives too many fucks, (are you that friend?), who will remain glued to the seat, enduring the shit shivers until making it home, where one can defecate safe and sound. (Which holding in your shit, FYI, is also increasing your possibilities of suffering from a terrible sounding illness called pelvic floor dyssynergia – and can, according to WebMD, kill you.)
Now, let’s assume you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give a fuck and are hurling your ass to the nearest restroom. You’re hoping it’s empty, and, to your luck, it is! You make your way into the stall farthest from the entrance, so you speed right into the handicap bathroom with your two able legs and, maybe, if you were brought up under the auspices of a Mexican mother who wasn’t going to have her kids pissing or shitting like stray dogs, opt for an aerial squat to avoid the possibility of contracting a weird bacterial infection. You’re about to, it’s coming, and now it’s all gone to shit. Literally. There’s somebody in the bathroom.
So now you’re waiting for that lucky break, or regretting wearing such flashy shoes because everyone will know it was you when you step out of the excretion grounds. The flush of the toilet, your chance – and then you wait, crapping yourself for the love of Jesus and Mary and the Chain, for the hand dryer, another opportunity. This is all because we are under the bizarre assumption that the foul smelling, germ-ridden process of the human body is something to be embarrassed about.
I usually think it’s extraordinarily hilarious, more than anything. Some of the greatest laugh attacks I’ve ever had were from shit-related jokes. I’d giggle at the whisper of “caca” and “pipi” jokes in elementary school, and I’m actually still laughing at those 13 years later. I guess you could call me immature.
But back to my original point, the very essence of the longest piece of writing I’ll ever write about shit. So why all the fuss?
My feces fascination leads me to believe that we are all a bunch of TBH’s (Tight Butt Holes) for not wanting to accept the nature of the human body. Being able to talk about shitting with another person is equivalent to transcending 20+ levels of friendship. It signals a different kind of mutual trust, it’s coming from within. And it is the sort of friendship I love and cherish: it’s genuine. A love so unconditional, they don’t care about your bodily excrements. They love you for who you are, all of who you are, including that which you cease to be every time you pop a squat over the toilet.
And perhaps bringing up a slab of poop, brown and moist, during dinner is a little disturbing to the ear and mouth, but we should be talking about our shit taking strategies, or abandon the strategies in their entirety and just shit freely. The 21st century has clearly been an era for change: America’s first black president, the rise and fall of Miley Cyrus, the age of instant communication and devices smarter than the very people who own them, and even surgery to change your natural eye color. So why don’t we mark the end of the Shit-Shaming era and live the way we can be? Free.