I am lactose intolerant. It has been previously documented here, here and here. For years, I’ve dealt with it. But due to deep rooted psychological hang-ups the resulting obstinacy issues I am currently exploring in weekly therapy, I refuse to take lactaid pills. Consequently, I have figured out the magical amount of dairy I can eat without setting off The Shits. General stomach pain and excessive gas? Fine. I’ll deal. But suffering long years of lactic hell has taught me exactly what I can eat while still avoiding Total Tummy Annihilation.
For lunch today, I suggested the office order in pizza. We’ve had a rough week and it seemed like a suitable Managerial Band-Aid. Plus, I could eat two or three slices and stay within my dairy sweet spot. After debating the pros and cons of various pizza providers, the majority finally settled on Papa Johns. It came, I ate two slices, and returned to my regularly scheduled work program. As expected, about 20 minutes later, my stomach started to rumble. Five minutes after that, I got gas. Chair rumbling, lift-up-your-leg-to-let-it-all-out, registers-on-the-Richter gas. With my office door closed, the Lawyerly Ventilation System creates hurricane worth air circulation, so I thought nothing of sitting at my desk, doing research and farting away. Until I shit my pants.
It was one of those farts where you have to push a little to get it out; where there’s just a tad bit of thrust behind it. I guess the combination of forceful fart and lactose-induced stomach unrest was just too much because as soon as it broke the butt cheek barrier, I knew something was wrong. For about eight seconds, I was in denial. I mean, who wants to admit they shit their pants two days into their 30’s? But reality is reality. I was sitting in my stink-bombed office in poopy panties.
Panicking, I got up, grabbed the bathroom key and waddled to the facilities. Thankfully, the Ladies was empty and I could rectify the situation in peace. It took half an econo-roll of TP, three enormous wads of damp paper towel and surgical-like hand washing to make me feel clean again. Not to mention that I trashed my undies in the sanitary napkin receptacle and am now experiencing Workplace Commando.
I’m just about to walk down to CVS and buy some lactaid pills. And possibly a diaper.