April 23rd 2009
“Coco…what do you mean you’re sitting in shit water ?”
“Like I’m literally locked in this bathroom, and there’s SHIT WATER EVERYWHERE. REAL SHIT. IT’S REAL. AND I’M TRAPPED. AND IT’S MINE. AND IT’S EVERYWHERE. HELP ME PLEASE!”
It was the classic sorority girl – fraternity boy fairy tale.
“Hey, wanna go to my frat formal with me?”
“Wanna get stupid in an obscure location together?”
We took a weekend apart.
Coco and I, I mean. As a college staple friend who experienced naked neighbor shenanigans with me and constantly proved herself to be a never ending source of entertainment, I wasn’t sure why I was still so surprised. So surprised that this unexpected phone call would yield one of our most memorable college panics to date.
Here’s what happened.
I was off competing the National Gymnastics competition in Atlanta, Georgia attempting to claim the title for my University by doing strange things such as this:
Whilst Coco was accompanying Frat-star Chuck to his classy, formal event in Gatlinburg, Tennessee and doing strange things such as this:
Ready for a weekend of free booze, shiny dresses, and misplaced dignity.
I had just completed a floor routine of questionable dance moves peppered with twirling leaps, airborne acrobatics and unnatural poses like this:
when I finally saluted the judges and jogged over to the sparkled-haired team captain to discuss serious competition tactics in a full body spandex suit when suddenly
Incoming call: Coco De-pantsalot
Self thought: Remind Coco to change that to her real last name.
“Jesus. Olive. Thank God! I’m fucking trapped.”
“Trapped? What the hell do you mean?!”
Captain Sparkles gave me a startling stare…I half-smiled and inexplicably walked away.
“I’m trapped in a bathroom. And I’m at this formal event. With Chuck. And I clogged this toilet. And I’m in the fucking mountains. And I’m freaking the FUCK out. And I don’t know what to do.”
“What the. Well have you looked for a plunger?”
“Plunger? Oh a plunger! Right! Okay. Plunger…plunger…plung…er…”
I could hear her sifting around the small quartered bathroom. I could even hear her move the trash can. Then look under the sink. Even check the medicine cabinet in delusion and desperation. And I especially heard this:
Coco’s voice plunged into a desperate whisper.
“Oh FUCK. Oh no. Oh shit. Olive. Someones at the door.”
“Ask who it is!”
“No I don’t want to say anything! What if it’s Frat-star Chuck?!”
“Nothing but bad things will happen if you pretend you’re unconscious in this bathroom.”
“Damnit. Okay fine. That makes sense. YEAH?”
“Heyy. It’s Jenna. Boys sent me up here to make sure you were okay…are you okay?”
“Oh thank god. Oh. God does love me. Hi Jenna! Yeah I’m okay!”
“Are…you sure. You’ve been up here for a while.”
I told Coco that she should ask her for help. That perhaps tag-teaming this not via phone may be more productive. And to call me back. She said okay.
“Okay actually Jenna…don’t judge me for what is about to happen. I need your help. Will you come in here?”
“Uh yeah, of course!”
Coco op ened the door
Jenna asked what in the hell was going on. Coco did a solid, less panicked re-cap. To which Jenna said “Oh! I know how to fix it!”
Coco told me she had to go. That she recruited Jenna as back up. And that she would call me back shortly with the details. And the call back conversation went like this:
“I’m sitting in shit water. This is bad Olive. This is really bad.”
“Coco…what do you mean you’re sitting in shit water?”
“Like I’m literally locked in this bathroom, and there’s SHIT WATER EVERYWHERE. REAL SHIT WATER. IT’S REAL. AND I’M TRAPPED. AND IT’S MINE. AND IT’S EVERYWHERE. HELP ME PLEASE!”
“You’re trapped in a bathroom…and there’s shit water everywhere…and it’s yours…”
“…And you’re not going to explain this to because…”
“Ugh okay fine. I’m at this frat formal. In the mountains. With Chuck. And I had to use the bathroom. Like really use the bathroom. And there’s a bathroom upstairs. And a bathroom downstairs. And I’m thinking. Well, I’m a lady. I’m gonna be discreet and use the bathroom 3 flights up. So I go…and then I go. And I flush. And it doesn’t flush and now THERE’S SHIT WATER EVERYWHERE. HELP ME PLEASE OLIVE PLEASE…HELLO? Oh my fucking god. Are you laughing? Are you serious right now? Really? You can’t even say any words at all? STOP LAUGHING I’m in a fucking crisis over here!”
“Wow. So glad I called you. COME ON.”
“Alright. ALRIGHT. I just don’t understand how there would be shit water everywhere if it didn’t flush.”
Here’s what happened.
Upon Jenna’s arrival she Jenna confidently strutted over to the opposite side of the bathroom, LIFTED the back-end of the toilet and aggressively tugged at the back chain that consequently…triggered the entire bowl of water…and everything in the water…to
Without speaking a singular word they grabbed every absorbent object in the room. Clean towels? You know it. Shower curtain? Absofuckinglutely. Their very own bodies? Didn’t hesitate for a goddamn second.
Drenched and frantically mopping up this unexpected catastrophe in the least sexy way imaginable they heard a
“Shit. Oh fuck. Oh no. I think it’s them.”
“No YOU say something.”
“I’m covered in your shit water.”
“…Solid point…okay fine. YEAH? Who is it??”
“What’s going on? Is Jenna with you?”
“NO. Yes. No. I don’t know. NO. Fuck.”
“Can I come in?”
“This is getting weird come on just let me in!”
“I’m not feeling well! I’ll be out in a second!”
“Come on let me help! What is it? What’s wrong?”
The door handle began to shake.
Coco began to panic.
Shit water Jenna began to panic.
They needed to brainstorm. And they needed to brainstorm now.
They began to hear more voices. More boys congregated on the opposite side of the door. It was drawing a crowd. People knew something was happening. Coco needed an out. (literally) And she needed it now.
Think Coco think! What could I say that could make this all go away? To make him magically lose interest. To give him every reason to say with ease and perfect content “Gone for 30 minutes in the bathroom? That’s not weird at all! Bye Bye!” Something that would cause every man near and far to flee the premises immediately and never ask for an explanation again. Something that would terrify him so much…that he would just walk the fuck away without a goddamn question. Think. THINK.
…there’s no visible evidence of what…clogged the toilet…just the aftermath. Just the idea. Wait a second…should I say…could I say? Men hate this word. Panic at this word. Shut down physically and emotionally when they hear this word. Should I just say it? Would it be better if I just said that the whole reason I was taking so long was because of a –
“Oh yeah. I uh. You just. You do. What you gotta do. I’m just gonna go…downstai…I’m just gonna go.”
Coco and Jenna spent the following 9 minutes wiping every ounce of evidence of the misfortune that had occurred not so long ago. They washed their hands (multiple times) and agreed to never speak of this again. To please. For the love of god. Never. Speak. Of. This. Again.
Coco successfully spent the rest of the weekend with Frat-star Chuck ignoring the events that just ensued like this:
Bonding like this:
And finally enjoying the frat formal debauchery in deceivingly classy format like this:
And it wasn’t until 4 years later that Coco picked up the phone. Searched “Frat-star Chuck” in her contacts. Pressed call. And had a conversation that went like this.
“Hey Chuck. It’s me, Coco. So random but remember that one time at your frat formal? In the mountains. Yeah I totally clogged the toilet with my shit. And I just thought you should know that. Also, I’m really glad we’re still friends.”
I could tell you that they never spoke again. That Frat-star Chuck was so stunned that he had been lied to for almost half a decade via tampon. That he hung up immediately and never spoke of this. Or her. Again.
They became even better friends. And that Frat-star Chuck found this so humorous that together they turned this episode into a public story. And that most importantly, they now keep 4 lifelines in the bathroom at all times. And they come in the form of :
1. A plunger
2. Phone a friend
3. Not Jenna
4. A back pocket excuse.
You know, just in case.