For those of you who missed the previous masterpiece, go ahead and read part one of this story. You won’t want to miss it. Anyway, let me kick off where I left off.
Part 3: Walk of shame
Once my friends completed the challenge (a full 60 minutes without fluids), they decided to celebrate by going to the Emporium for some well earned ice cream. Being the pushover I am, I decided to join them on their journey. Boy was that a mistake.
Approximately 420 feet from our dorm, what can only be described as the greatest wave of gas to pass through this planet, swept through me. Now, I’ve learned throughout my life to never trust a fart. And that was particularly true in this situation. So, I decided to sit down on the first bench I could find.
Now this would already be embarrassing. However, I didn’t know what was coming. As I sat on the bench hunched over, a police officer approached me.
“Son,” he said in a stern voice, “how much have you had to drink tonight?”
Now, it is important to note that this was at about 8 p.m. I don’t know who this guy thought I was. But, no matter what he thought, I am nowhere near that cool. “Uhhh….” I said, knees weak and arms heavy, “nothing.”
“Yeah right pal, why else would you be passed out on a bench on a Friday night?”
Now I faced a decision. Do I fess up to the real reason I’m having such a moment of weakness?
“Actually sir,” I said matter of factly, “I’m just struggling with the aftermath of the One Chip Challenge.”
“You? Spicy food? I know better. Let’s do a field sobriety test.”
Now, I hadn’t learned you can deny a field sobriety test. So, I complied. I was seemingly doing fine. I was able to follow his finger, tell him how many fingers he was holding up, and the like …until I had to walk the line.
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As I was about to turn around, the remnants of the chip reached their first bit of stomach acid. And boy was there an explosion. I collapsed to the ground, immediately sobbing and praying to anyone holy and willing to listen. As the officer approached me, his nose told him all he needed to know.
“I’m sorry for not believing you pal. I should have trusted you when you said you’re a dweeb. You’re free to go,” he said.
Not only was the physical pain insufferable. So was the emotional pain. I haven’t lived this down yet. I hope telling you will make me feel better (it won’t).
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