But as we walked out on the tarmac towards the small plane, I sensed an even more frightening reality: something horrible was happening in my stomach, doing nasty things and wreaking havoc to my fragile intestines.
Up to this point in our yearlong trip I had been extremely diligent about not eating or drinking a thing for hours before any type of transportation in which a toilet was not a reality. Chicken buses, minivans, taxis – these were all extremely dangerous options when you have a relentless spastic colon. And that very morning as we sat down for breakfast, I was so good about keeping my food intake as miniscule and bland as possible: a banana and plain toast. But for some absolutely inconceivable reason, a random meat pastry sitting – god knows how old it was or how long it had been sitting there – under a glass case on the counter of the diner appeared to look…desirable.
And going against everything that I knew to be right, I ate it.
And now my bowels were going to make me pay.
About ten of us settled on board and strapped ourselves in our seats of the tiny puddle jumper. The force on my intestines was immense.
What could I do?
They had already closed the hatch and were now firing up the engines…
The plane was obviously too small to have a toilet; an icy sweat broke out on my face and dripped down my spine. I was in serious pain and there was an unstoppable entity taking control of my body. I secretly pleaded for the ability to hold out for the next hour until we made it to the island, if not, it was looking like I would have to take a barf bag and squat near the rear of the plane. Would I have to ask the flight attendant and passengers to keep their eyes forward as I performed the most embarrassing feat of my life?
This couldn’t be happening.
Within a couple minutes, the plane was up in the air and there was no turning back. As I realized what was inevitably going to occur whether I liked it or not, I began to freak out.
Through my sweaty, searing, dreamlike fright, I began having visions of asking everyone else to please forgive me while I squatted over a barf bag. Holy crap, what if they didn’t even have barf bags on board? I couldn’t think in complete thoughts, I was having a violent panic attack and secretly wished that the plane would crash to save me and everyone else from this horrible fate.
My stomach cramped on the Richter scale over and over again.
I honestly wondered if death was not preferable to having to live through this impending embarrassment and pain when suddenly the flight attendant walked by. I reached out helter-skelter, grabbing her arm tightly, and alarming her enough to let out a little wail. Through gritted teeth, I started to lead her into understanding that I would be having explosive diarrhea inside her cabin within a matter of seconds, and began futilely pleading with her, “I know there’s not a toilet on board...”
I simply cannot express the intense relief and utter JOY I felt when she interrupted me with a nod and led me to the back of the cabin where a hidden half door in the middle of the wall the size of a porthole opened up into a tiny onboard toilet. Saved!
And just like that, I was suddenly born again.
Afterwards, I contently settled into my seat with a tearful smile. I was a new man. A free man. Free!
For the next hour the plane hit the absolute worst turbulence that we had ever experienced. People were screaming and sobbing, the plane was lurching beyond comprehension, dipping and dropping for ten to twenty seconds at a time, in an apparent answer to my earlier wish to spare us all.
Paige was literally scared straight, holding onto my arm with a death grip and keeping her teary eyes tightly shut with intense fear; if it wasn’t for seat belts we all would have been thrown around the inside of the cabin like socks in a dryer.
But compared to my near-death-due-to-embarrassment predicament just moments before, this was a piece of cake. Sweet, glorious, chocolaty cake. I actually smiled in pure gratitude as I drifted off into a comfortable nap.
As we neared the Indian Ocean the plane finally leveled out and Paige woke me up. Two kids in front of us were still crying uncontrollably from the fright of the whole experience. The air turbulence, not my intestinal turbulence; although I wouldn’t have blamed them. We shot out over the coast and within no time were heading in for a landing on a tiny island next to Lamu.
Paige and I both kissed the tarmac when we deplaned into the intense heat and humidity...only for two very different reasons.
I recalled this experience Wednesday night as I watched Marty escape imminent extinction on Survivor. Like my colon, Marty was heading uncontrollably toward an embarrassing, violent, yes even explosive end to his stay on the island, surely leaving the rest of his tribe feeling sick, stunned and scarred for the remainder of their existence.
Should he or shouldn't he play his idol? Should I or shouldn't I have eaten that unidentified meat pastry? One bad decision could lead each of us down a path that would potentially be impossible to change...
And when the vote came out tied for Marty and Kelly one-leg, it was with 100% certainty that Marty would have to whip out the barf bag in front of everyone else.
But wait...suddenly an unseen door opens - during the tied re-vote, Marty is spared: UNANIMOUSLY.
Baffling. Inexplicable. But so satisfying!
Marty is spared at the precise moment of death - only to return to his tribe with his idol intact and a new target now on Brenda's back for instigating the whole unrealized strategy. Oh how the tide dost turn.
Good for you Marty. I'm not sure how it happened, but like you, I'm just glad it didn't end all messy...
We both live to see another day, to play another immunity idol, to wipe the tears away from tribe alliances and scared children...and perhaps most importantly, to scarf down another greasy, unidentified meat pastry if we want to.
Ignorance is bliss...as long as you can flush it away...
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