Line One

This is a story I shared about a year ago, and it still makes me laugh. Honestly, life is far too short to take ourselves so seriously. Sometimes the best stories are the ones where we're the punchline, and this one definitely qualifies.

Writing is something I enjoy, so I figured, why not document the ridiculous part of my day that started with pure embarrassment and somehow ended in laughter?

Pre-story WARNING: This tale contains TMI, gastrointestinal drama, and an overly concerned significant other.

Read at your own risk, and probably not while eating.

So there I was, just another innocent employee minding my own business about an hour after lunch, when my stomach started throwing a full-blown tantrum. Not a polite little gurgle gurgle, oh no, this was a dramatic, soap-opera-level protest that said, “Girl, you brought this on yourself.”

At first, I tried to ignore it. I pretended I was stronger than the pizza. But no. My intestines were staging a coup, and I had no choice but to make a beeline for the restroom like it was Black Friday and the last roll of Charmin was on sale.

Once inside, I attempted to maintain some dignity. You know, sit down and be all quiet and all discreet, you know, how ladies do, until reality hit and the grease beast from that deliciously deceiving pizza Joey brought me roared to life… all the sudden, WHOOSH. My body said, Nope.

We’re going full exorcism mode.

So, mid-battle, I decided to text Joey, my dear, sweet, off-work-for-the-week boyfriend who clearly had too much time and not enough distractions. I let him know I was on the toilet, experiencing a personal crisis brought on by the grease-bomb pizza he brought me. Naturally, he blamed the olives. Because obviously he didn’t have a gastrointestinal meltdown and his pizza didn’t have olives, so clearly I had ordered Satan’s toppings.

We proceeded to chit chat about pizza grease, the betrayal of cheese, and my noble efforts to flush between rounds to spare my coworkers from requesting hazard pay.

Then came my mistake:

I, in my infinite wisdom, fired off two quick texts in a row:

1. “I’m getting sweaty up in here.”

2. “Help, send help!”

You know, just some dramatic flair as one does.

Well, I finish my business (flushes were strategically deployed to protect the innocent), and as I’m wiping, I shove my phone into the Bermuda Triangle that is my pocket, not exactly easy to access during post-poop protocol.

Well. Joey read “send help” not as “lol I’m dying of poop-sweat,” but as “HELP, I’ve fallen into the toilet and can’t get up.”

I missed a few text messages and a phone call from Joey while my phone was in my pocket.

So, while I’m finishing up, blissfully unaware, in storms my sweet, well-meaning coworker Cassie like she’s about to perform a bathroom rescue.

“Janet, are you okay?!”

Me, pants up and hands half-washed, stare at her like she’s grown a second head and reply: “Uh. Yeah? Why?”

She replied “Joey’s on Line One. He wanted us to check on you to make sure you were ok, he said you sent him a concerning text.”

Ya’ll.

At that moment, I disassociated. I genuinely blacked out from secondhand embarrassment. One minute I’m drying my hands, the next I am at my desk again and I’m texting Joey: “You better hang up that phone RIGHT NOW!”

Later, I calmly informed him that he should start saying goodbye to his loved ones because this was, in fact, his final day on Earth.

Of course, we laughed it out (after I threatened his life). He picked me up, and we relived the horror, me laughing wondering how “send help” turned into “call my job over a poopy.”

So yeah, what started as a greasy pizza poop turned into an office-wide wellness check. I shared the story with my trusted coworkers. I mentioned I was thinking about writing it up and posting it to laugh about and they suggested I should share it on Facebook.

So here I am, sharing my tale of gastrointestinal chaos and overly helpful boyfriends with the world. Because if you can’t laugh at yourself for accidentally causing a wellness check over a poop, then what are we even doing here?

Moral of the story? If your partner ever sends a “send help” text mid-poop, maybe don’t immediately call their workplace like it’s a hostage situation. But also… love them a little extra for caring that much.

Laugh often. Poop carefully. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t text “send help” without a laugh emoji or some disclaimer.

A Moment to Reflect

Some of the best stories we'll ever tell aren't the ones where everything goes according to plan. They're the ones that leave us laughing years later, even if we wanted to disappear in the moment. Embarrassment fades, but the laughter has a way of sticking around.

What's a moment in your life that was absolutely mortifying at the time, but has since become one of your favorite stories to tell?