Usually, when somebody asks to tell them the most embarassing thing I’ve ever done, I’m stumped for answers. As of this week, however, that’s all changed. I’m about to tell you why — but first, let it be known that it’s taken me four days to decide whether to make this information public. Well, I decided that I will. My name is Mark, and this is my story.
My house is currently a building site. The entire kitchen has been knocked down to make way for a new one inside an extension, so I’m surviving on food stored inside a tiny fridge in the middle of a living room covered entirely with dust sheets. Being woken up by power tools at 7.30am every day and having to live in just two fusty rooms has resulted in a constant desire to eat, so our crude temporary kitchen isn’t working out so well for me.
Anyway, culinary digressions aside, my embarrassing day began with a bedroom pilates session. I was enjoying some fat-busting, leg-pumping ab exercises to full volume CSS, partying like it was 2006, when there was some shouting and a knock on the door. I jumped up and opened it to greet a gigantic builder who pleaded me not to flush the toilet. At this point, I was flustered, sweaty, scantily-clad, and my Youtube pilates instructor was screaming ‘PUMP, PUMP, PUMP, OH MY GOD THAT’S HARD!’ from the laptop on the floor. I doubt my builder friend thought to himself, ‘oh, this young lad is enjoying a short exercise routine before sipping on his daily green smoothie!’. I looked considerably less wholesome.
But oh no, that’s not even the embarrassing part. Stick with me.
I finished my little workout, showered, dressed, and headed for the toilet. I’m not sure how to communicate this, or indeed any of the remainder of my story, without vulgarity, so I’ll just come out and say it: I defecated in the toilet. Phew. Ok. So, forgetting the message carried to me by the aforementioned amiable contractor, I hit the flush button. That’s when a shout came from outside.
“DON’T FLUSH THE TOILET! OH FUCK! YOU’VE GOT THAT ALL OVER MY £1100 POWER TOOL! I SAID DON’T FLUSH THE TOILET!”
In short, the toilet’s pipe was disconnected and I poured the contents of my bowels onto a very unfortunate, totally innocent builder. That, most definitely, was the embarrassing part. And that’s when, being someone who likes to maintain the illusion that they don’t require normal bodily functions, I went into a panicked frenzy, grabbed my bag and ran out of the house, leaving the door open, too scared to go back and close it lest I encounter a very angry and very wet builder wielding a £1100 power tool which may or may not be capable of decapitating me.