Long Lake Camp c.1994 via Alex Berg
I am lactose intolerant. I did not realize I was lactose intolerant until about halfway through high school. Up until then, I thought constant diarrhea was just the normal state of affairs for everybody, and that society was polite enough to keep us from mentioning it directly all the time. I was also a fat kid, prone to over indulgence. At summer camp, this instinct normally manifested itself in about a half dozen bowls of Froot Loops with whole milk for breakfast every morning.
Also at summer camp, I kissed a girl for the first time- and not some peck on the cheek bullshit. This was a performing arts camp. There was tongue involved. Like most first kisses, it was equal parts exhilarating, confusing, and triumphant. Unlike most first kisses, it was cut short by a rumbling in my bowels which would give doomsday scenario planners pause.
Since I’m brilliant, I suggested that we move the make out session in progress from the ping-pong tables to the woods behind the bunks. Besides, I said, I had to take a leak and I’d be able to stop in and use the bathroom. She agreed, and so we began our migration, as a rich slurry of sugar laden cereal and half digested milk conspired with gravity to put as much pressure as possible on my rigidly clenched butt hole.
We made it to the bunks without any problems, and I excused myself, ducking into the bunk and sitting in one of the humid stalls set aside for such an occasion. What happened next was a fairly apocalyptic evacuation. The toilet was filled past the water line with what must have been a cubic meter of excrement. By the end of it, after a cacophony of fart noises that would make my mother (the woman who runs this blog) proud, I was left sweating and shivering- and it was at this moment I remembered that there was a 5’10” Canadian girl who didn’t realize she was out of my league waiting for me to continue making out with her sitting just outside the open door to the bunk.
“What were you doing in there?”
“I had to go to the bathroom.”
“What took so long?”
“Ugh, well, I’ve gotta go- I have a rehearsal I need to get to. See you tonight?”
And then, after one of those bullshit pecks on the cheek I’d mentioned earlier, she left. My first ever real makeout session with a cute girl was cut short by the fury of my innards, and I learned a valuable lesson: Shit before the date, not during.
Thank you, Alex Berg, soon to be famous comedian, for sharing this lovely camp memory. This was a lesson worth learning. But, though you have now grown a few inches and slimmed down, you are still single.