The Absurdity of Poop (and float spas)

{Note: this is my 100% totally raw 10 minute free write that I copied into a blog post to document for all of time, and of course share with you. Please expect typos and misspellings.}

Some of you have heard these two stories before. They are still to this day the most absurd situations ever. You can tell because I still write as if it happened yesterday. 

Today's writing prompt was: Tell me about something absurd. 

Please enjoy:

Have you heard of those fancy pants Float Spas? You know, a big-ass pod filled with water and 875 billion pounds of salt so that you are magically boyant and float in a delightful sensory deprivation situation. It's actually really cool. It's the most unplugged hour you'll probably ever have. 

Groupon was running a special so I bought one and scheduled my float. The nice woman checked me in, gave me a tour of the spa and then walked me to my private room, which contained the gigantic pod and a small shower stall to rinse off in before and after my float. She let me be and I undressed, got in the pod, pulled down the gigantic door and closed myself in. I effortlessly floated, in pitch black silence for one solid hour. At first it was like any meditative experience - I was fucking ANTSY. I couldn't relax. It was a little freaky. I masturbated, that helped and I was able to really be present and enjoy the float. There is a timer on the pod and it goes off by beginning to play music under water and then slowly turning the lights on and then eventually the door pops up automatically for you, and then as a final get-the-fuck-out, the super powerful jets come up and the pod starts doing whatever fucking crazy cleaning cycle it does after each float. 

So I'm a little delirious and so fucking relaxed and naked and dripping wet as I climb out of my pod. As soon as I stand up strait I realize IHAVETOSHIIIIIIIT. SO BADLY. As a reflex I hunched over because it was like standing up strait stretched my poop vessel in a way that made it harder to hold in. Things were quickly escalating and I realized there was no fucking way in holy hell that I was going to make it waaaaaaaay down the hall to the bathroom. I had to come up with a solution, and fast. I surveyed the scene and noticed a teeny tiny trash can with a super duper thing plastic liner. But that's what I got. So i grabbed the liner, copped a squat and I shat right there in that bad. I tied off the bag because goddamn does poop stink out in the open air. Do you realize how much your nose is spared by pooping into a toilet bowl full of water so your shit is immediately submerged? It saves your nose a lot of agony. 

Feeling a hundred and fifty thousand pounds lighter, and with a shitty ass, I stepped into my private shower stall and rinsed off right nice. But then. Oh sweet baby Jesus. I had to shit AGAIN. In the same horrifyingly desperate way.

So I had to reopen the poop bag. And poop in it again. 

I seriously considered squatting over the shower drain, pooping, and then just cramming the poop down the drain grate with....something. 

But I didn't. I reopened the bag. 

Then I showered again. 

Then I got dressed, grabbed my bag of shit and prayed to Jesus that I would make it down the hall to the actual bathroom with my clear plastic bag of poop without running into anyone. Thank fuck. I'd made it. I threw the poop bag in the trash can and got the hell out of there. 

Now I make sure to warn everyone before they go to the float spa - poop first. Just please - poop first. You'll thank me later. 

I don't know what it is with me and poop. I have some kinda poop karma.

Because my one other most holy shit shameful experience also has to do with poop. I was living in a roommate situation and one of the guys I lived I had a maaaaad crush on. Like, it was bad. He was so fine. One Friday night I had gone out drinking as a good recently divorced newly single does, and I had also eaten really terrible bad awful fast food  in the wee hours of the morning on my way home. Fast forward a few hours to Saturday morning at 6am. I wake up and am going to poop my friggin pants. I'm surprised I didn't poop the bed. I ran down the hall to the bathroom and who's in there? Hottie is in there re-tiling the shower. He's one of those freaks who gets up at 5am every morning and goes for a 1700 mile run with his border collies. So of course he's up ass-early on a Saturday doing sexy man stuff. Ok. Now obviously he would've left the bathroom and given me my privacy to do whatever I needed to do. But I couldn't. Because after I pooped my sure-to-be-the-stink-bomb-of-the-century poop he would've been right back in there to get back to his tile job. And he would've smelled my poop. 

And I just couldn't deal with that. 

So I went back to my room and did the only logical thing I could do in my hungover 6am on a Saturday morning stuper. I pooped in the trash can next to my bed. And then I just went back to sleep. Some hours later I woke up, grabbed the bag of poop, made a mad dash for my car and drove up to the Safeway around the corner to chuck my poop in their dumpster. 

Because holy heaven forbid hottie discovered I actually poop. 

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For the 875th time - do one of Jena's writing groups. The group members will reflect back to you the best version of yourself and will make you want to keep writing, and keep sharing. Unconditional love is what you will get from the group, and we could all use some more of that now huh? C'mon. Do it. www.jenaschwartz.com

Also - did you like my poop story? Well why don't you share it? Doesn't someone else deserve a laugh? Maybe you wanna listen to one of my podcasts or sign up for newsletter {below} or buy one of my books. It would make my day. 

 
The Absurdity of Poop | Cock & Crow Blog #poop #floatspa #sensorydeprivation