Brown Monday...

...Or the Day I Pooped My Pants

Author's Note: Like Nick Adams, Stephen Dedalus or Speedo, the Mij is an alter ego - existing somewhere between reality and pure fiction. What follows is a re-telling of an awful morning the Mij had several years ago. Just as Hemingway, Joyce and Reis were afforded artistic license with their second-selves, please allow this author some wiggle room as well. Thank you in advance for reading on.


Like so many misadventures, the day of Brown Monday started with the feeling of normalcy. The Mij woke up, showered and prepared for work as he had countless other days. He had a bit of a sour stomach but that was nothing out of the ordinary for him first thing in the morning - a cup of coffee usually remedied that. Having finished getting dressed, the Mij headed downstairs and poured the better part of a pot of Folgers into his thermos. His stomach rumbled.

The Mij hopped into his car and began the morning commute to work. Five minutes into the drive he began to wonder if he was really getting sick. A normal person may call in for the day, or even wait it out and go in later in the morning. But the Mij was cursed with a Midwestern work ethic and rarely, if ever, called in. It would take nothing short of a severe illness to keep the Mij home. Furthermore, he had only been employed with the company for a few months and was still trying to make a good impression. So he hoped it would pass, and drove on - this would prove to be an ill-advised decision.

Now located an equal-distance of 10 minutes from work and 10 minutes from home, there was no denying something was terribly amiss in the Mij's stomach. Sharp pains throughout the digestive area gave way to feelings of having to find a toilet immediately. Should he risk pulling into a gas station he had never been into, hoping they had a public restroom, and further hoping the likely one-holer was vacant. The Mij decided to push on to his place of work, to a restroom that was filled with a large row of almost assuredly unoccupied stalls. He was sweating hard and now having some difficulty concentrating on the road. This was serious.

The Mij pulled into his work parking lot with the same urgency of a NASCAR driver pulling into his stall for an important pit stop. He turned off the engine, grabbed his thermos, shut the door and made a mad dash for the building. There was no time to lock the car. The Mij opened the door and ran up the stairs to the restroom. He could sense he was beginning to lose the battle with his insides, but he was so close now he could almost...see the MEN sign. There was no one in the stalls or the restroom for that matter. The Mij hurried. He hustled to the nearest stall, preparing for his ultimate moment of release, closing and locking the door behind him. Then it happened - his insides jumped the gun, unable to understand that even though he was in the stall, he was not yet sitting down, or even prepared to sit down for that matter. The Mij panicked. "Why is this happening to me!?!" he thought. As the panic left, he became thankful. If this had to happen, he was probably in the best place possible.

After some cleanup it was time to weigh his options. Option 1.) Throw the soiled undergarment away. This seemed like the obvious choice at first. It was early, he was close to the restroom garbage and could probably avoid the embarrassment of running into anyone. But what about the smell throughout the day? Plus, in his rattled mind and fragile state, the Mij was sure it would all be traced back to him. Option 2.) Dump out his coffee in the toilet, place the unmentionable in the thermos and throw the whole thing away in a dumpster. This idea seemed like a winner. But just as 20 minutes earlier his Midwestern work ethic kept him from avoiding this whole thing in the first place, his Midwestern cheapness now held the veto. $10 to buy a new thermos was not in the budget at the time. Option 3.) Flush the whole nightmare away. A brief internal debate on the capacity of the plumbing gave way to the desire to end the whole ordeal and go home to take a shower. "Here we go," the Mij quietly muttered to himself. He nervously pushed down the handle and to his relief it was gone in a splash. No clog. Somewhat anti-climactic. He stuck around for a few more minutes, pulled a few more safety flushes and speed-crab-walked to his car.

At the same time humbled and relieved, the Mij called his boss from the parking lot and told him he would not be coming in that day due to illness. It was over.

In the end, the Good Lord had a bigger plan for the Mij that day. He shielded the Mij from a boring eight hours of office work, and allowed him the opportunity to listen to a full day of sports radio in his one-bedroom loft apartment. The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways.