Saturday, March 14, 2009

An old Mexico story

Warning: Explicit story. Do not read any further if you do not wish to be grossed out.

Well - I went deep sea fishing. At first, I didn't care if I went or not, since I have already been, but I figured what the heck, this will be fun. It was fun last time. I should have known it wasn't going well when I didn't have time to go number two before I left the hotel (never a good idea in Mexico). And then I was 45 minutes late to the boat due to bad directions. When I finally arrived, after walking for a half hour, getting to the wrong place, then being shuttled 1 mile and being charged $20, now finally I felt like I had to go number two. But there was no time, so I got on the boat figuring that I would just hold it for the four hour boat ride.
I was OK for the first 15 minutes, but after that the sea was so rough I started to feel like I had to puke. So I stood outside to get fresh air, but all there was back there was diesel fumes. It was making the puking sensation even worse. I did NOT want to puke, because as you know, the same muscles that make you puke...well you get the picture. Let's just say I didn't want to have to throw my underwear over the side of the boat.
Anyways, I think we drove for an hour to get way out to sea, and although I took a dramamine, I didn't make it that far. I ran to the back of the boat to puke, and it was very embarrassing because my puke landed on this little platform, and was not washed away for quite some time.
But, luckily there were no accidents south of the border. Right away I felt better. But that only lasted about 5 minutes. Again I puked, this time into a bucket.
About this time, I realized I was going to have to go to the bathroom, there wasn't going to be any more 'holding it'. I also felt that if I were able to go, my stomach might feel better. I didn't even know if the boat had a stupid bathroom. Thank goodness it did. First I had to get the door unlocked. To compose my stomach and focus on the task at hand proved quite difficult. Finally the guide came and got the door open for me. The room measured about 2 feet by 2 feet, and the toilet was about as big as a basketball. Meanwhile the entire bathroom is knocking me from wall to wall and side to side because of the roughness of the ocean. I got my belt undone, and my pants around my knees, being very careful not to get any of my pant legs onto the disgusting pee drenched floor. At which point I realized there was no toilet paper anywhere. I have to puke, and I can't to the bathroom, so I have to compose my stomach, pull up my pants, and go back out to the boat for the toilet paper. Now my stomach is upset and I have to puke, so I do that, this time over the side of the boat, being careful not to crap my pants, and after 15 minutes or so my stomach calms down a little bit I take another trip into the bathroom, this time armed with a packet of napkins (which I had to get from the fishing guide, who by now was a tad irritated with the production I was putting on). Back in the bathroom...repeat scenario about the pulling down of the pants, and now this time I am ready to do my business. The bathroom is alive and throwing me about, and there is no seat to sit on so I have to stand, aim and hope for the best. Those of you who know me know that I don't touch ANYTHING in a bathroom. Now suddenly I find myself grabbing walls, leaning my bare behind on the wall to brace myself, leaning my entire body on the disgusting, putrid wall. I am sweating profusely because of the warm weather and the puking and my stomach is shaking and I need those muscles to hover myself over the toilet which will not stay still. Over the years, I have gotten quite good at peeing standing up, but this was fresh territory. All that practice paid off, however, and all is well. I have finished, wiped and flushed, feeling very proud of myself when suddenly - I realize the flush didn't do the trick and there's still hard evidence in the toilet and then the stench hits my nose and now I am face first into this tiny toilet. I couldn't stop it. There was nothing left to puke up, but I am wretching and wretching, and crying and my face is wet with sweat, my hands filthy from the flusher. Pumping and pumping it, eighty times, turning the knob for water, poking around, touching everything, trying to flush and erase my embarrassment. Of course, it didn't quite flush everything down, sending only a slight trickle of water to wet the mess I have left in the bowl. I think I must have used all the water in the flusher. So now I am faced with a choice. I am the only one who has used the bathroom, and while gross and dirty, it is quite obvious that someone has now used it for not one, but two purposes. I can either leave, wipe the sweat off my face and retain my dignity knowing what the poor Mexican fishing guide is likely to find and know immediately that it was me, OR I can grab gobs of napkins and clean out the remaining puke, etc from the toilet and throw the whole thing into the aforementioned bucket. I'm sure you already know the choice I was forced to make.


Anonymous said...

You know that you are probably one of the only people who would clean that up.

Did you feel that your hands would ever be clean again after that????

Sarah said...

oh. my. god. That is the worst thing I think ever to happen to a person on a boat in the history of people on boats. My mouth is hanging open still.

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