Today’s Brown Plate Special

Today’s special…

I was 18 when I landed a summer job as a waitress at a swanky, nautical-themed restaurant.  The only problem was it was out on the edge of town. With 4 teenage drivers in the house I often had to ride my bike to work.  On that fateful day I had been having a little trouble “going”, if you know what I mean, so I took ½ of a little square of Ex-Lax.  ½ a square, mind you.

I was in the dining room, taking an order from a nice, older couple.  I had just got the drink orders (martini; dry with a twist and an old fashioned; extra cherries) and was recommending the filet mignon when it happened.  The Ex-Lax kicked in without my prior knowledge or consent.  Right down my legs.

I froze, just for a second.  Then I dropped my pad and pen on the table and sprinted for the bathroom.  The squalid hellhole of a bathroom that the employees were allowed to use was through the kitchen, clear on the other side of the place.  We were strictly forbidden to use the customer washroom, but at this point I needed the nearest port in the poop storm. I dashed in there and bolted the door.

A few minutes later my tough old boss, Gail, was banging on the door.  By this time the immediate crisis had passed and I was desperately trying to wash my pants in the sink.  Thank God the jaunty, nautical uniform we had to wear was navy blue on the bottom and white on the top and not the other way around.  “I’m sorry, but I’m sick!” I wailed through the door.

Eventually I had to leave the bathroom. Since this was the pre-cell phone era, I had to go back through the lobby, through the dining room and into the kitchen to use the phone.  I’ve blocked most details of the Bataan Poop March from my memory, but I suppose the patrons dining experience was not enhanced by the breeze kicked up as I passed by.  This WOULD be a day I rode my bike, so I had to call home for someone to pick me up.  Riding a bike in my condition did not seem advisable.

Dad showed up in the old, green station wagon.  He’d brought along my 15-year-old brother Pat, nominally to help with the bike, but I suspect he volunteered so he could bear witness to my shame.

My brother kept up a running commentary (who could blame him?) as they loaded my bike into the car.  He would insist he exercised admirable restraint.  The cherry on top of my misery sundae came when Dad suggested I sit in the back. He had the whole bench seat covered with industrial-strength, black garbage bags.

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This was my entry for Most Embarrassing Moment – Youth Division, over at Darla’s place, She’s a Maineiac.  Head on over, read all the other wince-worthy submissions, and vote for your favorite.

But before you do…

…head over to the right-hand column right here and vote for your favorite in the Peg-o-Clip Advertising Award contest.  You’ll be so glad you did.

The blogosphere is awash in contests nowadays!

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About pegoleg

R-A-M-B-L-I-N-G-S, Ram...Blin!
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53 Responses to Today’s Brown Plate Special

  1. bigsheepcommunications says:

    Definitely wince-worthy. Thanks (??) for sharing??

    Like

  2. oh no

    Did you ever go back to work there?

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      You mean did they ever let me come back? Yes. I never said exactly what was wrong, just that I was sick. I don’t THINK they knew, but maybe I’m delusional.

      Like

  3. Tar-Buns says:

    I feel your embarrassment! OK, here’s something I just remembered happened to me, in a similar vein. I was working at Walgreens, Kate Navarre was too. She picked me up, we went to work, I thought I had a little ‘gas’ but guess what. It WASN’T just gas. SO, I, too, had to run home and change my undergarments and then scurry back to work. Yikes that was not fun.
    Have a great day! 🙂

    Like

  4. Janu says:

    Wow. Just wow. Or maybe I shoud say POW!

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Pow for sure. As a former pro waitress I think you would agree that filling ones pants at the table was numero uno on the Official Waitress Taboo list, right?

      Like

  5. Roly says:

    Got the T shirt for similar that I will post about sometime. 🙂 Fun read

    Like

  6. As I told you, I also had an embarrassing moment that involved crapping my pants. I didn’t even have Ex-Lax to blame. He still married me.

    Like

  7. I totally voted for you over there yesterday. I mean I can’t think of anything much more mortifying than that. Congratulations on having such a sucky experience in your teen years when it’s likely to affect you the most.

    Like

  8. I voted for yours, Peg! What? I can’t do that? Well, I did. (just let it be known that I’ve told every one of my finalists the same thing, but I’m only telling you the truth)

    Like

  9. Yikes. That’s almost like a parody of how Ex-Lax works – like how we think would work if we’d never had it.

    And did they get their drinks? DID THEY GET THEIR DRINKS??

    Like

    • I hope they got their drinks. I’m guessing they ordered a round of mudslides.

      Like

    • pegoleg says:

      I’m sure they didn’t WANT their drinks after that, or the re-fried beans appetizer they ordered.

      But this isn’t my worst Ex-Lax story. I should have known better after what happened when I was about 10.

      I went to Girl Scout camp for a couple of weeks every summer. We slept in canvas tents that were on raised, wooden platforms and you had to really careful about not keeping food in the tent because the animals could get under the canvas so easily. One day after underwater basket-weaving we returned to our tent to find a girl’s suitcase had been ransacked. It turned out she had packed chocolatey Ex-Lax and an as-yet-unknown woodland creature had found it. Laying aside the question of why a 10-year-old needs a whole box of this stuff at camp, we followed the trail of, er, well, poop. It lead us down the path and through the woods where we found the culprit – a poor little squirrel who had, basically, pooped itself to death.

      Funniest/saddest event of the summer.

      Like

      • Tar-Buns says:

        Oh, Peg! I remember hearing about that. We were in different camp districts (what’s the word?). That’s another poop-post! 🙂

        Like

  10. For the record, my embarrassment story was nowhere as amusing or as embarrassing as that. You get my vote every day, sister.

    Like

  11. Go Jules Go says:

    Peggles! How else can I offend/tease you today? LOL 😉

    I read this on Darla’s blog yesterday, slack-jawed. I feel like I never really knew you before this story. I promise only to bring this up when you’re feeling sh*tty.

    Also I love you. This is absolutely epic.

    Like

  12. Angie Z. says:

    “Brown plate special”? You had to go there, Peg, didn’t you? I loved this story and I’m pretty sure I’ll never eat at that restaurant now or ever.

    Like

  13. Al says:

    That’s a pretty funny movement….er…uh…I mean, moment, Peg.

    Like

  14. Reblogged this on The Podgorica Tribune and commented:
    Sigh.

    Like

  15. Running from Hell with El says:

    Yeah. This has gotta been the winna winna brown chicken dinner!

    Like

  16. I’m mortified for you! Something like that would NEVER Happen to us Brits 😉

    Like

  17. Oh my god, it’s like something out of a Ben Stiller movie!

    Like

  18. Pingback: The Substitute Babysitter | Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings

  19. I am so, so very far behind in blog reading, but now that I know of this wince-worthy moments collection, I must seek it out! I’ll get to brainstorming my own, too. The bar is pretty high, though! 😉

    Like

  20. Emma says:

    You’re brave for sharing that story. Poor you.

    Like

  21. Dana says:

    I would have totally voted for this story every day if I had made the voting deadline, Peg. It is beyond mortifying! Anything with poop makes for an awful/great story, but throw in your teenage years, the bicycle ride, and working at a restaurant, and what you’ve got isn’t brown– it’s GOLD! (But not like pee golden. Solid, precious metal, GOLD gold.)

    Like

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