I spent a good portion of my younger days pondering the central question of life: why am I here? Now in the full glory of post-menopausal wisdom, I can state unequivocally that I have been put on this Earth for two reasons, to humiliate myself and to eat crow. And, impressively enough, I recently accomplished both in one fell swoop.
My tale of karmic payback began some time ago when my mother was entering the twilight of her 96-year-long life. Though my sisters and I were obviously grateful she was still with us, she developed a habit that regularly had us crying out in frustration, “Why didn’t you go before we left home?”
Without fail, the instant we crossed the threshold of any retail establishment, she declared her urgent—and previously nonexistent—need to use the bathroom. And for doing serious business, too; no “piddling” around for her. Her bowels beckoned with such maddening predictability on these excursions that my sisters and I were convinced she was somehow doing it on purpose to drive us crazy, much like her refusing to wear her hearing aids and then accusing us of whispering in front of her.
“Walking into a store is not a recognized intestinal trigger!” I vented to her in exasperation. “It’s not a thing!”
To expedite the bathroom treks, my sisters and I memorized the layout of every nearby mall, shopping center and superstore with the diligence of thieves planning a heist. Even so, my mom could still throw us a curve ball, the most notorious of which became known as the gas station wino incident.
One afternoon an unexpected road closure landed us on a seedy stretch of highway with our gas tank edging close to “E.” We kept our eyes peeled for a gas station among the mostly abandoned, graffiti-splattered buildings, and finally spotted a dilapidated, but open one. My sister pulled into its littered lot. Our plan was to get in and out as fast as possible, pumping just enough gas to make it back to civilization. My mother’s digestive system had other plans.
“I need to go,” she announced decisively, insisting–over our loud protestations to the contrary–that this place didn’t look so bad.
There was no reasoning with her, so in a desperate attempt to convince her of the unsuitability of this spot, my sister pulled around to the back of the building. She got out of the car and dramatically pulled open the rusted-through door to Exhibit A, thereby exposing the wretched wasteland of a bathroom, as well as taking the drunken vagrant lying in the middle of it—complete with a bottle in a paper bag—quite by surprise. (Despite his surprise, he was rather cordial, you know, in an E. coli carrier kind of way.)
We high-tailed it out of there and sped off down the highway, with my mother shouting the whole time about how we should have just offered him a couple bucks to vacate so she could have used the facilities. Seriously.
My mother has been gone more than four years now, and it turns out the joke is on me. In addition to some of her lovelier qualities, it appears I have also inherited my mother’s unattractive habit of, well, as I’ve indelicately termed it, “retail pooping,” And despite what I formerly believed, it actually is a thing, according to Google. And I have it.
Name the store and I’ve probably used their facilities. From Target to Home Depot to El Corte Inglès in Madrid, I have made a beeline for the bathroom within minutes of entering. At first, I tried to pass it off as coincidence and my husband insisted it was psychological.After the latest incident, however, I can no longer deny the force at work—it’s karma, all right. Super-sized karma. With fries.
I was on my way home from work last week when I suddenly remembered I needed candy for an activity the next morning. I’d already passed the supermarket, so instead of backtracking, I decided to make a quick stop at the rather rundown dollar store up ahead. In the sixty seconds it took me to enter and walk to the candy aisle, the store worked its laxative magic on me with a magnitude too great to ignore.
Panicked, I ran to the back, praying a rest room would be there, while also mentally preparing myself for sanitary conditions several notches below a Walmart bathroom on Black Friday (which I’d actually once experienced). I whimpered in pain upon seeing the “Out of Order” sign on the women’s room door. Directly across from it was the empty men’s room, and my roiling intestines left me no choice but to duck in there. Fortunately, it was a single, but unfortunately, the lock was broken and the door was too far from the toilet for me to hold it shut with my hand or even my foot. So, there I sat, retail pooping in a rundown dollar store men’s room,just waiting for a wino to burst in and complete my humiliation.
They say your poor decisions, such as losing patience with your elderly mother and her irritable bowel, come back to bite you in the butt. Karma knew just where to find my butt, parked atop a dollar store toilet, and it surely put the bite on me. And I know my mom was laughing about it all the way from heaven.
I totally understand and the intensity of this situation is growing for me as well. God bless us all
Oh, dear, I feel your pain…in my lower abdomen! Oh, the joys of aging. Thanks so much for stopping by, Donna!
I, too, suffer from Retail Pooping, especially whenever I’m at Home Goods. It’s like the universe telling me that though I’m away from home, it’s still time to deliver the goods. Thank you for this hilarious post! Now I know I’m in good company.
So sorry to hear you share my affliction, Linda, and I’d advise you to stick to Home Goods for relief and avoid the dollar stores. My friend has a related condition, “retail flatulence,” that hits every time she walks into TJ Maxx, Barnes and Nobel and Whole Foods. At least when you and I raise a stink, we don’t unleash it on the whole store. Thanks so much for stopping by.
Lee, oh Lord, funny but very serious as well! Aging. When did it happen? I just applied for Medicare. I guess that seals the deal. I love your writing!
It started “rear”ing up a few years ago, Carol, so you’re running on borrowed time! I’ll understand if you don’t want to go shopping with me! thanks so much for stopping by!
Wait…we have the same mother? Loved this one!
Oh, no, Lori, our shared genes don’t bode well for any quick-stop shopping trips you had planned. Meet me in the Target RR and we’ll continue this discussion. Thanks so much for stopping by!
I haven’t heard of this affliction before, Lee, but now that you’ve enlightened me, I think my sister suffered from this. At least you don’t have to stock your cupboard with Metamucil or Sennakot. Do you go shopping all day when you prep for a colonoscopy and skip that dreadful Miralax concoction? So funny. I’m laughing my butt off!
Seems like a no-brainer for colon prep, right? My gastro doc wasn’t having it! My methods are obviously too advanced for present-day medical science. Thanks for getting it, Molly!
Oh, too funny, Lee! I, on the other hand, have found myself dealing with days of constipation, especially while traveling, with a colon that has become increasingly shy about performing in public. I can’t sleep with any ambient light or background noise, either. This is what comes of living alone for years, I think. Fortunately, the dogs are cool with it.
Try saying, “Nice colon, you can do it.” Actually, my colon is not a travel fan and gets stubborn, but shopping brings out the best in it! Thanks for stopping by, Kate!
I grinned when I read about your 96 year-old mom. Going through the very same with mine. And, yes, you might ask my daughter about the time I made her drive our rental car in a foreign city before she got her license. All because I had to scoot the final block on foot to our B and B’s bathroom. Uh huh. Mother of the Year.
LOL! What a great story, Kelly! Does Allstate know about this? 😉 Oh, my, the cruel betrayal of our bodies! Thanks so much for stopping by and giving me a reason to laugh on a Monday.
Oh Lee, I have found my new tribe! How does this happen, every single time? I’ve stopped apologizing to my friends. The alternative is far worse.
LOL, there’s always an empty stall for a new tribe member! And, yes, the alternative is much worse, but seriously, every single time, like clockwork, why us???? Thanks for stopping by, Pam!
I love this. When I’m with my mom, any stop we make she uses the restroom. As you also discovered, I’m following in moms footsteps. I just go pee whenever she goes. We once turned a 9 hour driving trip into 11 because we had to stop for the restroom or to stretch our cramped legs. After we stood up, we had to wait a few seconds before our legs would move. Aaah. Aging at its best.
Ha ha! I relate to those “extended” trips! My husband is very patient and will stop as many times as I need. but what kills me is how my need can go from zero to sixty in the half-mile from my house to the supermarket. I keep telling my daughter, someday it will be her, so don’t ridicule me! 🙂 Thanks so much for stopping by!
Another winning piece, Lee. Congratulations! I’d shake your hand, but…well, you understand.
Ha, ha! But on the other hand, Dave…oh, right, same thing. 😉
I have the urge to empty my bladder every time I go into a supermarket … I make sure I went before leaving home … yet as soon as I grabbed that trolley….
However, since I’m now a retail merchandiser working in various supermarkets every day, at least, I know where all the loos are ! 😊
Oh, what an advantage you have now. I had to study the floor plans and directories, but I’m pretty well-read now! Thanks, Linda!
You had me rolling on the floor (not a bathroom floor!) My mother, at 99, can still stop a pooping incident in its tracks if she deems the facilities are not to her liking. And she can determine this from the car, while still driving down the road. Growing up, she would say, “No, no, no, no, turn into that one.” And she would be right.
That’s hilarious! You mom and my mom rule opposite ends of the public pooping spectrum! such a distinction to have, ha ha. I’m telling you the Dollar Store episode was just demoralizing, like why don’t I just squat in a roadside ditch?!
Dear God. I know all about this type of drama. You still made me laugh though!
It’s just awful when it hits you, isn’t it? Panic and embarrassment, but there’s nothing you can do…but GO! Thanks for stopping by!
My bladder is the one trained like a circus seal. There are a million triggers — leaving the house, entering the house, getting into my car, going to any restaurant, everything brings on the urge to go. And yes, its worse than it used to be! Glad I’m not the only one.
And the urge comes on so suddenly, in a finger snap. From zero to sixty in no time. Aaaarrrgghh!
Let’s just say that I will never again complain about my mother! Funny, funny stuff. 😆
I’m telling you it comes back to haunt you! Mothers can drive us crazy in the moment, but we sure miss them when they are gone. That’s what I keep telling my daughter! 😉
Wow, it IS a thing, how fascinating! McDonald’s is my laxative when going gets tough, and my bladder goes from empty to near explosion any time I lay down for a massage.
I know, who would have thought it was a thing…or that I would “catch” it?! My bladder gets me after the massage, every time!
There’s an app for that. Seriously, my husband has a potty app downloaded on his phone so that wherever we are, he knows where the closest bathrooms are.
Holy cow – I am all but ROTF here as I recall both 1) my own not-that-long-ago pregnancy/postpartum days, when I had similar issues, and 2) the fact that Karma is coming for me bigtime, as my children have been known to exhibit similar behavior and I have been known to get similarly exasperated…
It is the WORST feeling, especially when the choices you have are pretty sketchy! The dollar store men’s room, a new low for me and bowels!
My hubby has this issue. I for one struggle anywhere outside of my own home!!
HA! I feel his pain–and shame! There’s no place like home…but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. 😉