Diarrhea. Deception. Disaster.

This happened some time in the recent past.

Ruby Tuesday, again? (sigh) What can I do though? This is Long Island, land of chain restaurants and strip malls. I would prefer my unique hole-in-the-wall Thai joint but then most of the group will complain. "Thai food? Like, from Thai Land?" (sigh) And so Ruby Tuesday it is. It's the only place we'll agree on. I won't complain. A rack of spicy ribs always suits me fine and I'll do some serious damage at that salad bar. I've already hungrily spied a bucket of tri-color noodle salad.

An aloof, teen-aged hostess seats us and then we are greeted by "Marc with a C" who will be "taking care of us this evening". He pulls up a chair and giggles today's "featured items". That's annoying. Don't sit. Don't force your funny on me. Don't perk it up. Keep it simple and friendly. Just give me competent, prompt, professional service and I guarantee you I'm your best tip of the night. Lose the shtick. We send Marc-with-a-C off to fetch us some Oniony appetizers and two-for-one margaritas.

Suddenly a tremor from deep within my stomach: GURGLE. CRAMP. CHURN. CRAMP.

Uh oh. Something is happening in my gastrointestinal tract. Something bad. Is it my system protesting the vast amounts of grease I'm about to ingest? Or maybe it's the funky sushi I had for lunch. Whatever it is, it's going to need to be dealt with stat. I excuse myself and head to the head.

Discomfort builds as I trot toward the restroom. My pace quickens with each step. Pain is coming in waves now. Mentally, I'm timing the contractions and trying to avoid any other analogies to childbirth like "crowning" or worse: "my water broke".

I burst into the bathroom. Empty. Ah, excellent. I'm going to need privacy for this. In a frenzy, I dive into the farthest stall and quickly scope things out. Pretty damn clean in here. The toilet seat is uncharacteristically devoid of typical male splatter and other repugnancies. Smells nice, too. Good, good, good.

I start unraveling toilet paper by the foot. Once I have enough slack, I wrap it around my hand over and over and over again. I create a quilted cushiony catcher's mitt. I give the seat a quick wipe. Just in case.

Next, more TP. Hand over hand, I unroll about, oh, three mummies worth. I place it on the seat, covering all plastic. This is our "packed base". I'm working quickly now. Danger lingers. Disaster imminent. Then, a few paper toilet seat covers. Five, actually. Faster, faster. Feeling beads of sweat forming on my forehead, I crisscross the paper seat covers on top the TP base creating soft sanitary strata.

My body is READY. Let's do this! Hurry! Belt. Pants. Down. Sit!

I erupt.

Ahhh. Sweet release. WHEW. While I completely defile the throne, I am pleased that this was a freak incident and I'll be able to enjoy my meal without worry of a messy encore. Good. Noodle salad, here I come.

Then, I hear the door creak open. Damn it. I almost got out of here without -- wait a minute. I hear "clop, clop, clop" across the bathroom floor. Puzzled, I angle my head to get a closer look under the stall:

HIGH HEELS.

Oh no.

Please, oh PLEASE God let her have wandered into the wrong bathroom. Please, I swear that I'll never ask another -- The door creaks again. Is she leaving?? NO! Someone's coming in. Then I hear it: two women having a conversation.

OH.

SHIT.

I feel my face flush then I courtesy flush.

I'm in the bloody ladies room! At Ruby Tuesday! On Saturday night!

My world swirls before me as I try to stave off the panic welling up inside. Now there's a flurry of activity in the restroom. The clatter of ladies shoes on porcelain. They chatter about … well, I don't know. Lady things, I guess.

I quietly finish up my business and - wait.

The conversation disappears out the creaking door. Am I alone?

I stand completely still and listen.

Silence.

Time to move.

I reach for the handle of my stall to unlock it, and then suddenly someone tugs from the other side! Crap!

"Hello?" asks an older lady's voice. "Is someone in there?"

WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo?

Do I answer in falsetto, like Peter Scolari from Bosom Buddies?? NO. WHAT DO I DO?

I know! I flush again.

"Oh, sorry" she says and enters another stall. This is my moment. The eye of the storm.

I explode out of the stall and make for the door. I reach out for the handle - and freeze. I look to my right and sigh. I have to wash my hands. I don't WANT to. I *HAVE* to. Moments ago I fouled that toilet so badly that mid-evacuation I offered it an apology. I must wash.

I pump a squirt of soap, flip the faucet and quickly wash. I spin on my heel toward freedom.

The door opens with that familiar creak and as I pass through, I hold it open for *another* lady walking in. She says "thank you" and eyes me suspiciously.

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE. NOW.

I take one step away from the Ladies Room and - BAM.

Gino.

My brother Gino, standing before me.

He instantly recognizes the panic in my ashen face. I'm frozen in place. He considers me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he looks at the sign on the door behind me. Then back at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Again?" he asks.

I hang my head in shame and reply, "again".

Comments

[Dora]

AJ I just showed your blog to my husband and I have to say it's funnier the second time around...I am laughing so hard that I have tears streaming down my face...please post more embarrasing moments. I can always use a good laugh.

[JM]

GG!

[bmc]

It's the bead-of-sweat comment that gives your story that extra kick of realism. That kind of gastrointestinal distress *always* seems to be accompanied by beads of sweat--and a sudden, powerful, flushed-face feeling that comes over you just before you know you'd better SIT. DOWN. NOW.

It's universal, evidently.

Years ago, I worked at a small, perennially almost-bankrupt software firm (as opposed to the current not-bankrupt software firm I work for now). We developer types used to go out to an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet now and then. They didn't serve their highest quality offerings at the all-you-can-eat buffet; there was an overabundance of ghee (and other fats) in the food. We were attracted more by the "all you can eat" aspect of the repast. And we'd eat plenty. Inevitably, *someone* (often more than one someone) would have to flee to the bathroom shortly upon our return to the office, experiencing a the kind of gastric distress you so eloquently (and painfully) described above.

One of my colleagues coined the term "Tandoori Armageddon" to describe the aftermath of our Indian buffet trips.

[hhrvt - heather]

I'm with BMC on the Indian food intestinal distress, it has to be the worst

Believe me, women's rooms can be nas-ty, cuz come on, how often to you encounter, um, the remnants of Aunt Flo in the men's room??

If I encounter a dirty toilet, I just move to the next one....its also been proven that the FIRST stall is the cleanest

[Fabe]

i've done this more than once - the going into the ladies room part, not the ass volcano at Ruby Tuesday part. Since it has happened only thrice, and twice because I was drunk, I'm not that worried yet. Especially when I know TONS of women who have no qualms about making in the men's room -- it's like they do it for sport.

but all that aside, thanks for the belly laugh. effing hilarious!

[heather]

ewww.

just. ewww.

[nic]

AJ, are you feeding me a load of crap? Are YOU telling ME that you have been to this restaurant again and again but didn't know where the mens' was?

AJ, please.

[gordon]

Nice one AJ laughed my socks off. I have come close numerous times in recent years to ending up in the wrong room as bars increasingly go for ever more elaborate designs for his and hers. These leave me standing there staring at the figure going "are those just big trousers or is that a woman?" I was at it again yesterday where the chosen pub to watch England wipe the South American smile off Argentina had some sort of gypsies (3-2 in case you missed it -;) ). All greens and blues, the man looked like a chick and the woman well it was difficult to tell.

Why or why can't they stick to the plain old tick men. They're great and instantly recognisable. I'll get the campaign a started.

[gordon]

Okay that's mean to be stick men.

[special sauce]

Oh... Oh AJ. Hee! That is at once priceless and utterly hillarious. And really, the clean seat should have been a dead giveaway. (Not that you'd know it from our ladies room at work, but generally speaking, we who sit to pee seem to have better aim...)

Heh.

[melissa]

Nasty, nasty, nasty, nasty. Poor AJ.

"Tandoori Armageddon"??? bbahahahahahaha

[AJ]

Rabbit-- I might have considered that.

Sizzle-- Other TIMES you mean. :-|

Claire-- Yeah, boys need motivation to stay neat.

Dora-- Haha! Ok, let me try and remember more of those...

JM-- He's not going to like that.

BMC-- Ahhh... I have experienced "Tandoori Armageddon". But I love my curry too much to not eat Indian food.

HH-- I have never encountered Aunt Flo in a restroom. Does that happen? I might have broken down into tears.

Fabe-- If a woman does this, it's a simple mistake. But when a man does it, it's embarrassing. Or perversion.

Heather-- This is not a site for the squeamish!

Nic-- No. That was the first time that had happened -- in that restaurant.

Gordon-- I agree. Stickmen, please. Nothing clever. No themes. No languages other than english. STICK. MEN.

Sauce-- In retrospect, there were many clues. But the impeding disaster was hampering my powers of deduction.

Melissa-- Woe is me! Now, pass the Parmesan Nan... Mmmm...

[danielle]

That sounds horrible! Poor thing. I really felt the panic... Great story though. I'm just glad I wasn't there.

[Mister Groonk]

hahahahahahaha!

heh hee...wait..hahahahahahahahaha!!

ok...i woulda... heh..woulda....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

*sigh*

i'm better now. i so woulda gone the scholari route.

[Jill]

At first, I thought this was going to be a post about gastrointestinal distress INDUCED BY Ruby Tuesday's. Because I can totally sympathize with that. This was pretty funny, though. In the middle, I found myself thinking "I am reading a detailed description of his trip to the bathroom. And, um, I'm STILL reading it. Great job, AJ! Fabulous use of detail!"

[AJ]

Danielle-- It *WAS* horrible. Hold me.

Groonker-- That was my FIRST reaction. Falsetto. SO glad I didn't go with it.

Jill-- I did my darndest to avoid certain specifics. I mean, we've all been in this type of ... situation. I didn't see the need for details.

[Alexandra]

I just made the mistake of reading this in a library, and had the entire room turn to me stony-faced as I started giggling gleefully. This is a truly hilarious (though unfortunate) story.

And... AGAIN?

[Jules]

AFter reading this post I am reminded of the last family trip we took...we had to stop at a rest stop to let the kids do their business but the line for the ladies room was hella looooong....with three kids who have to pee real bad....that line is painful...the boy went to the boys room and after that the mens room was open...."go use the men's room" I say as the other women look at me with a "is she crazy" or a "damn....wish I was that ballsy" needless to say when we decided to use the disgusting men's room (I'm assuming by the looks of the rest stop that the ladies room wouldn't have been much better) Now I have no problem using whichever toilet is open....they both flush the same! Although, it's funny when you aren't expecting it!

[Jill]

I was so serious. You fabulously included details that put us at the scene of the...uh...incident? crime? without giving, you know, those details. Hysterical.

[Jill]

Ok, and am I the only one, that when waiting for my comment to post, glanced over at the sidebar where the recent comments are listed and saw... "special sauce on Diarrhea"?

[AJ]

"special sauce on Diarrhea"

OH

MY

GOD.

Accccckkkk!!!

[Leah]

Oh friend you HAVE to check the sign, don't let poop cloud your vision, you have to think straight under the pooping pressure.

[KidHerder]

Great story, I can relate to the "distress" part. I have experienced the panic of being in the ladies washroom, but only partially. A local restaurant has signs on the inside of the washroom doors that are the opposite of the outside. So you go into the washroom, and then on your way out you see the Ladies sign... you have a quick panic and leave quickly. It can be fun to watch the shocked/embarrased expressions on peoples faces as they leave the loos.

[Angalee]

As I sit here snorting and laughing I remember the theory that there are no accidents. I believe you are suffering from clean restroom envy.

[Catrina]

That is the funniest description of a bowel movement I've ever read!!!!!