May 11, 2009

My Worst Day Ever


Do not continue reading if you are of faint heart, have circulatory problems, nerve damage, are prone to seizures or suffer from epilepsy. If you are on any medication please remove yourself away from the monitor and do not continue. Also if bodily functions really really frickin’ gross you out, you might want to go do something else with your time. Oh yeah, if you are under 18, piss off, this ain’t for your eyes!

Now that the ground rules are established, boy oh boy do I have a story for all y’all!

Today started off like any other day. I woke up in my apartment (which I will never get tired of saying!) and pried my eyes open to see the sun coming in through the window. A beautiful blue sky was out there waiting for me to get my ass outta bed. Which was completely different from the typhoon we experienced just the night…wait no…THE ENTIRE DAY yesterday!

So there I am, flicking my tongue around trying to get rid of the pasties, when I happen to glance at my alarm clock. It didn’t wake me up this day. I woke up all by myself! I’m feeling the grown-up in me clawing it’s way up in me. But what caught my attention was the time.


Wait a minute…what day is it today? Sunday.

I work at…………oh…… fuck.

On Sundays, I am usually at work at the unnatural hour of 9 a.m. My first client was scheduled at 10 a.m. on the nose.

I am screwed!

I began running around the entire apartment, (my apartment, heh) screaming “Aww Fuck!!!!” and stubbing my toe multiple times on this new piece of exercise equipment I just HAD to get! I picked up the phone and called work. I don’t leave my home phone number at work because, quite frankly, I don’t want to be bothered by them on my days off. This of course, is probably one of those times it would have been a good idea for them to have it.

All I remember is calling and as soon as someone picked up….

“Good morning Academy Massa…..”


Yup….there is only one Jason that works there, and I felt it necessary to tell them my whole name, like I was speaking to my commanding officer or something. I grabbed whatever clothes were lying around, (in MY apartment) and bolted out of the building, laughing inside at the fact that the bar “The Pink Taco” is right across the street from me.

“Pink Taco…grand opening!” “Pink Taco…now open!”“Pink Taco…coming soon!”
I think of a new one everyday! But that’s a whole nuther story.

So I am just booking it down the river walk to the forks where I have to park my car these days. I think I mowed down some guys asking for change. They sent a few choice words my way, which I certainly deserved. But finally I made it to my car. Totally out of breath, I gunned it out of the parking lot and in Five Minutes FLAT….from the Forks to Academy…I was at work. I ran in, being 40 minutes late now, and looked for my client.

No one there.

The receptionist tells me, a co-worker offered to massage him in my absence, (thank god) but couldn’t after all because someone else booked in at 9:50, (son of a bitch) so now my client was in my room waiting for me to come in and work on them. Shit!

Okay, so here I am 40 minutes late, a very patient and REGULAR client waiting for me, all I have to do is get changed into our very popular all black uniform and I’m good to go. Problem is, my uniform is nowhere to be found. And that’s when I realized what I was wearing.

Jeans…with holes in the knees. And a very tight army camouflage t-shirt. I looked like a Nazi who just walked in off the street.


So I went in, my client was under the sheets ready to go, no worries no nothing. I apologized up and down, I felt so so bad about this situation. I’ve never screwed up this bad before. I am the almighty cog in the Academy Machine that does not break down…until today.

So fine, we get started and I begin an hour and a half massage. But then something came to my attention. As I’m working the back of his leg, my stomach wakes up. I had skipped breakfast in my rush, so I expected a bit of tummy rumblings going on. But this…was different.

This was a feeling, not a sound, a feeling that something in my stomach...was not right.

Something was rotten in the land of my large intestine. And it…wanted…out! We all know too well the feeling of one of those craps that you just know has a relation to Mexican food. This was one of those bad boys. I had JUST started the massage. A late massage no less. There was no way I could excuse myself and take off to deal with this problem. My only choice was to clench my butt and pray to god that worked!

The thing is…with massage, you use your abdominals to create the movements and pressure needed. And every time I did that, it pushed against the beast inside. Which in turn, pushed against my tightly clenched butt, as if a bully was poking it into submission. Throw in the odd zinger, where you begin to pray to god to, “make the bad man stop” and hope nothing gets past the gates. This feeling always makes my do a funky little dance, where you kinda convulse and gyrate your hips in every direction, while your knees constantly try to fold over each other.

Every so often I would look up to the clock in my room with hope that it would read “TIME’S UP!” Only to see that in all that time…one minute had passed. I had 1hr and 29 minutes to go. I was not going to survive.

This went on for the other leg as well as the work I did around the hips. But by the time I had moved onto the back, the feeling had settled. No pain. Nothing! I even flexed the abs a little to test the waters. I was good to go. One hour to go!

The rest of the massage went well enough. I had him turn over and worked from the legs up to his neck. And that’s where the fun really started.

All that pain and discomfort I was feeling before was just all the gunk in my system passing through the proper channels. NOW, it had reached it’s destination. I sat down on my stool, (heh) to work on the neck, and something became…crystal…clear. There was a mass, what felt like the size of a pack of ground beef, begging to be freed from the other side of my sphincter. Some of you aren’t familiar with that word, it’s pretty much the paper thin gateway that holds back all of your bowel movements. As I tried to sit down, my legs naturally spread apart to ease myself down onto the stool. Bad idea.

I damn near fell over with the certainty, that if I spread my legs any further than a nanometer…I was going to have a really bad day. I thought my little dance before was impressive? My ass cheeks did a solo routine on that stool that could put the most influential tap dancers to shame.
Finally…time’s up! I ran like a mother fucker to the closest toilet that was not occupied, (on the top floor, because my day is just that great!) and as the gladiator Maximus once said, I “Unleashed Hell”.

No you do not get to know the contents of the bowl. That info is between me, my God, and the gallons of Pepsi that probably had something to do with it.

Needless to say, I’m a little fragile and weak from the experience. But I’m at home now, all is well in the world, and I’m going to relax now and enjoy one of my monthly treats.

JalapeƱo and Cheddar Thunder-Crunch chips!

No comments:

Post a Comment