The First Time I Pooped My Pants as an Adult - Part Two - Poo-Rah

So there I was: Knee deep in the suck of boot camp, finally getting the hang of being a Marine Recruit.

To start off, let me first say that it's pretty likely that peeing your pants in bootcamp is probably not all that uncommon, and based on my events, I can't be the first and only dude to have shat.

A recruit typically wakes up to lights clicking on and a set of angry drill instructors running up and down the squad bay (picture a large room with two perfeclty straight and uniform rows of bunk bends with an aisle between them) screaming for you to get out of your racks and counting down for you to get on line. Once everyone is on line standing on either side of the aisle. You've got to hold up your money/valuable bag and something else... Shit. I can't remember...

Anyways you get out of bed, and you now have to stand on line. FOREVER. Well, I don't know about you, but the first thing I've got to do when I wake up is piss. They always kept us there for a while... Not sure why, humiliation? counting people? it was fun to fuck with us?

Several dudes pissed their pants on line in the morning during the three months I was at Parris Island, SC. But enough about them and number one. This is about me, and number two!

This was the perfect storm of stuff for a disaster. I was in Third Battalion. Third Battalion is set apart from the rest of Parris Island, and as a result of it's remoteness, rumored to be one of the hardest/toughest for recruits due to its distance from the Recruit Depot's higher-ups. I can't say whether or not it was in fact any tougher than any other battalion, but I will say that I piss excelence, and "a Third Battalion Marine" is synonymous with "bad ass" in every thesaurus known to man.

It just so happened that our chow hall was being worked on, so we had to march from our far corner of the base to another battalion's chow hall. I can't remember which one it was. After chow, we were going to march back to 3rd Battalion's PT (physical torture... I mean physical training) fields.

We got to the chow hall, and I ate breakfast... As fast as i possibly could, with my heels together, toes pointed out at a 45 degree angle, and only my right hand (because you're not allowed to use your left hand to eat for some reason and it's a freaking race or something). Finished my food... And BOOM! It hits me in the gut. You know when you go to the hibachi restaurant, and you eat your whole meal, and all of a sudden you have to get to a bathroom FAST?! Yeah. That's what happened in my stomach.

We put our trays away. I asked the kid behind the counter (another recruit (on Team Week)) if they had a head (Marines for "bathroom"). The kid said "No!" It was serious, so I forgot I was in bootcamp, and the hood... I'm from the hood by the way, but that's another story... came out: Look yo, I know you motha' fuckas got a bathroom here. Where the fuck is it?

It was too late. My platoon was forming up. I got in line for the long walk back to Third Battalion. 

I tried to state my case: Sir, good morning sir. Recruit Price Requests Permission to speak to Drill Instruc..... 

"Shut your damn mouth Price!"

Goddamnit. This is bad. 

We start moving, and I try again: Sir, good morning sir Recruit Price requests permission to speak to Drill Instructor Seargent Whoever.

The DI: What the fuck is it Price?

Me: Recruit Price requests permission to make a head call, sir!

DI: Shut up Price!

Fuck! Stymied again. I was struggling now. Imagine someone trying to stick something up your butt, and you're using every muscle you have to hold things shut. Oh, and you're also marching!

Trying again... Skipping the formalities: Sir, Recruit Price requests permission to make a head call sir!

DI: I don't see no head Price!

Me: (abandoning almost all formalities) Sir! I'm pretty sure there's a fucking bathroom in one of these buildings we're passing!

That exchange got me nowhere. At this point, I don't know why I didn't just run into some bushes and do the deed, but I didn't. Fear? Embarrassment? Maybe I could still make it?

I prairie dog the rest of the march. Barely! We get to the PT field, and I see it. About 150 yds away is a porta potty. It looked like there were freaking rays of light surrounding it.

Here we go again: Sir, Recruit Price requests permission to make a head call sir!

DI: I don't see no...

Me: There's one right there sir!

DI: Go!

I take off full gait for it, but when you have to poop that bad, you can't run. I slow to a walk. Squeezing. Trying. To. Get. There. Almost....... Shit. Fuck this place!

I walk the rest of the way to the port a john like a toddler with a bursting diaper. I get there, toss my skivvies into the toilet and try to clean myself and the pants I was wearing the best I could. I exit and head back to my platoon. They've already started PT.

The DI sees the disgust on my face and knows what happened. Or maybe he smelled it. (I don't know or care) He asks if I know the way back to our squad bay and sends me there.

There are probably a bunch of different types of walks of shame, but the walk of shame after you've shit your pants has got to be one of the worst.

I get to the squad bay, and it's empty. I'm alone... Some people might harbor thoughts of hate and anger over the embarrassment of pooping one's pants as a result of being denied access to a toilet... But all I've ever considered was how nice it was to take that long, private, hot shower during those three horrible months.

Later that day, my Senior Drill Instructor, who's the closest thing to your daddy (if your daddy is a sadist), asked, "Do we have any problems?"

Nah' sir, we're good.

The First Time I Pooped my Pants as an Adult - Part One - Introduction - The Yellow Footprints

I guess you can't write about the second time you've pooped your pants as a grown up without following up with a prequel. Here goes:

The incident in question happened at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island. Before I can really start this story, I'll do two things: explain how I wound up at bootcamp do a poor job of describing it Marine boot camp for those who have never had the pleasure.

It was 2002. I was a smart kid, but I lacked the patience to deal with more schooling, and my decisions and the situations I kept finding myself in were starting to get a bit... questionable. I was considering the military.

Then one fateful day, I was taking my girlfriend at the time, now ex wife (don't ask), to get her stupid nails done. I can't remember why or what, but she needed something out of my trunk. I had a POS ugly blue '89 Honda Accord (yeah the one with the flip up lights but only one works). It took an act of god to get the trunk on this car shut once it had been open. I don't know why, but I didn't (or couldn't?) go through the back seat.

She retrieves whatever it was from the trunk and heads off to do nail things, and I begin to work on getting the trunk shut... gently and with finesse at first... becoming more forceful... getting increasingly violent... yelling and slamming that stupid fucking car's trunk like it'd been taking my lunch money my entire life.

Coincidentally, the nail salon was located near a recruiting place, and guess who happens to be walking by! USMC recruiter Staff Seargent Cox (I'm pretty sure that was his name). Gosh, I must've been an easy target. I was a ripe, confused,  late-teenager full of angst and in a dilemma. Cox walks up and tries to help. I'm like, "Man, there's no use. The planets have to align to get this thing shut." Cox has an idea. "How about this for now?" He busts out two sweet Marine bumper stickers. One for each side. Problem solved for now.

Then, Cox, that sly dog, pops the question: So Eric. What are you doing after high school?

CHECKMATE!

Honestly, had any other branch's recruiter come out and put their stickers on that damn Honda, I'd have gone with them. Don't get me wrong. I carry a tiny smidge of pride to have belonged to the meanest, fiercest, dirtiest, most bad-ass group of mother fuckers that have ever walked the earth: the United States Marines.

A year or so later, and I'm on my way to Parris Island, SC. I'm not up on how things are working these days, but at the time, Parris Island was where Marines east of the Mississippi River, and all women went for basic training.

There's a lot about Marine Basic that people who haven't been there could never ever attempt to wrap their heads around. Trying to describe Marine Bootcamp to a person who's never been through it is a lot like trying to explain what the planet earth looks like to a person who's been blind their whole life. I'll try to give a super brief synopsis.

For me, bootcamp was one of those things that's only funny once you're done with it. It was the most uncomfortable three months of my entire life. I'm no conspiracy theorist or anything like that, but Marine Basic is nothing other than a  thorough brainwashing... an indoctrination... into an organization where ideas like "Never quit!", "Always faithful.", "Brother's keeper", "Pain is weakness leaving the body.", "Honor, courage, commitment"... "insert any hard-ass ethos here"... are engrained into your very existence through physical, mental, and emotional torment. Camaraderie grows through mutual suffering.

I've never been a drill instructor, so my view of basic training is only from the receiving end. In bootcamp, I quickly learned that I had absolutely no control over anything. You have no idea what the schedule looks like. Your drill instructors are here to mold you into a Marine and make your life suck as much as possible for the next three months. You are no longer "I". You are "this recruit". You don't get to speak without first asking for permission to speak. Here's an example of some hypothetical dialogue between a recruit and their drill instructor:

Recruit: Sir, Good afternoon sir. Recruit Price requests permission to speak with Drill Instructor Staff Seargent Owens.

Drill Instructor: (Excited about the potential opportunity to fuck up recruit Price's day... Now three inches from Price's face) How 'bout you get some FREAKING BASS IN YOUR FREAKING NASTY VOICE! LLLOOOUUUUDDDEEEERRRRR!!!!

Recruit: (Again. Louder... yelling... because I forgot to tell you that you have to literally yell everything you say at bootcamp.) Sir, Good afternoon sir. Recruit Price request permiss...

Drill Instructor: WWWHHHAAAATTTT!!!?

Recruit: Sir, recruit Price's canteen lid is broken.

Drill Instructor: Do. I. Look. Like. I. Give. A. FFFUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!! Get on your face and PUSH!

That dude does give a fuck by the way. Your canteen will get fixed. They (the Drill Instructors) most definitely have their shit together. This is a video of what looks to be a pretty typical day in the early phases a recruit's training at Parris Island:

https://youtu.be/0XKqg7MWnh

M

When you're done, you're proud to have gone through it and earned the title. You've earned the right to wear the sexiest damned uniform in the armed services too as a bonus. SFMF. 

Part 2 coming soon.

Self Deprecation: My First Climbing Mishap and The Story of the Second Time I Pooped my Pants as an Adult

Two days ago, I was climbing (bouldering) in NC. I was on a 15' route that I'd done once or twice before. It is challenging for me, but definitely doable. I was pulling the last move to get the top-out. Then, I fell. I've gotten good about spotting my landing pretty quickly. I knew in a fraction of a second after coming off that I would miss my pad, hit ass or back first on my right side, and it would probably hurt. My size-up was spot on.

I hit so hard that I bounced. Pretty much immediately, three things happened: intense pain, alarm about the extent of my injuries, and further alarm about how far away from help I was. I'll elaborate. I can't remember anything that's hurt this bad in my life. All I could do was writhe and groan. I had no control over anything else at first. I was worried about how fucked up I was because of the pain, and because I smelled shit. I pooped my pants. Fuck! How bad did I mess myself up that I lost control of my bowels? This might be really bad Eric. You're alone, all jacked up, and over a mile away from the road. Shit! (i got puns for days) I managed to get myself together and make an assesment of what worked and what didn't. Luckily... and i mean winning lottery ticket luckily... everything worked.

I hurt like hell, but my feet, legs, and arms all still worked. For some reason, at this point, I was desperate to get my climbing shoes and underwear off and try to wipe off the poo. I was able to get this done. I stripped down naked from the waist down, went to work, and wondered how appalled an unfortunate climber walking up might be at the sight and smell of my situation. I'm still moaning, rolling around, and unwilling to try and stand at this point. I used the pullover I was wearing to try and wipe up the best I could. It was ugly. Sans underwear and hoody, I got my pants and normal shoes back on. They were shitty, but nowhere near as bad as the layer that was under them. Gosh what a mess. Okay, can you stand? A painful, but slow yes. How about walk? Again, yes. Good, 911 not needed for now.

I gathered all my stuff. All of it, because leave no trace and stuff... My stuff consisted of a small backpack with some water, shoes, a chalk bag, and shitty clothes, and my crashpad, a giant rectangle pad that's supposed to cushion falls when correctly placed and carried like a backpack. I found a stick to help take weight off my right side and slowly began the walk of shame back to my car. Temps were probably high 40s, low 50s, but I was sweating profusely and feeling dizzy. Was I bleeding on the inside? Hoped not. It was maybe a 1.5mi hike to the car, but it felt more like a 7. It definitely took as long. I met a group of three climbers while hobbling out. They offered to help. Thanks. In hindsight, maybe I should've said yes, but I was really embarrassed, focused on moving, and didn't want to put anyone in charge of carrying things that were covered in poop. Instead I made light of my situation like a fool.

At the parking lot, there's a shitter, but guess what? No TP. Why the hell would there be? I had a work shirt in the car that I used to try and clean up a little more. A little better, but I still stunk. I managed to get in the car. Damn it sucks to hurt your ass because we use it to sit all of the freaking time. Oh. By the way my home is about a 2 hour drive from where I was. The ride home was horrible. I kept wondering if I was worse off than I thought because I was suddenly tired as hell and a little dizzy on and off.

I made it back to the house, did a bad job showering, and went to the urgent care with my concerned wife. The urgent care passed the buck to the ER because they felt something inside was likely screwed up based on the circumstances.

Some X-rays and a burly doctor's finger up my butt later (he had to check for "rectal tension"), I was given the all clear.

Here I sit on my left side considering everything.

Was it dumb to go bouldering alone? I don't think so, but I'll definitely change my approach a little or go with a group from now on.

How fucking lucky are you man? How many more times of getting out of something unscathed do I have before I mess myself up? Probably not many. Be careful. People love and depend on you. It's not cool to be bruised, battered, and a burden to my family.

I also think it's interesting that I can't help but find humor in this despite what it could have been.

That is all.