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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Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings 
Definitely wince-worthy. Thanks (??) for sharing??
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Sorry to plant this image in your brain.
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I think you win.
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On sheer grossness, yes. Clever writing? Maybe not so much.
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oh no
Did you ever go back to work there?
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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.
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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! 🙂
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Ha hA! I don’t remember that story! I bet kate took it in stride.
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Wow. Just wow. Or maybe I shoud say POW!
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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?
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Got the T shirt for similar that I will post about sometime. 🙂 Fun read
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You got a T-shirt for this? What a competition – there’s the Olympics, and then there’s…
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Boys will be boys 🙂
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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.
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…and you didn’t think to tell ME about this gem of a story??
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Really, Renee, Darla collects crap like that. tee hee hee
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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.
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It could have been worse. The place could have been full of cute young guys instead of mainly old people. (and people say I’m a pessimist).
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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)
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Um, yeah, I believe you Dar Dar Binks (thanks MJ). You’re not just sucking up to contestants to drive traffic to your Hall of Shame.
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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??
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I hope they got their drinks. I’m guessing they ordered a round of mudslides.
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Ha ha! We were both commenting on Byronic’s comment at the same time. Pinch, poke, you owe me a Coke.
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Enjoy your free Coke. I understand they go very well with lobster lollies.
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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.
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Oh, Peg! I remember hearing about that. We were in different camp districts (what’s the word?). That’s another poop-post! 🙂
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For the record, my embarrassment story was nowhere as amusing or as embarrassing as that. You get my vote every day, sister.
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What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…or makes good blog-fodder, right Dave?
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…or both!
New and improved! Now stronger with two more scoops of fodder!!
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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.
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Love. Like chipmunk love.
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Whenever you mention chipmunk love I can’t help thinking of that song Muskrat Love. Have you ever fully explained the difference?
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LOL I was seriously thinking about doing an “All About Chipmunks” blog post, if only for the excuse to conduct extensive research [of chipmunks in costumes].
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It must be done – get going, woman!
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“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.
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They had to close the place down after that, Angie.
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Giggle.
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That’s a pretty funny movement….er…uh…I mean, moment, Peg.
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Not at the moment, Al. Not at the moment.
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Reblogged this on The Podgorica Tribune and commented:
Sigh.
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Repeating sigh.
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Yeah. This has gotta been the winna winna brown chicken dinner!
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Eww! That so clever and, yet, so…ewwww!
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I’m mortified for you! Something like that would NEVER Happen to us Brits 😉
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Ri-i-i-ght. Even a case of Ex-Lax is no match for that stiff upper lip, what?
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Oh my god, it’s like something out of a Ben Stiller movie!
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and I LOVE Ben Stiller! Funny thing is, at the time it didn’t seem all that hilarious.
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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! 😉
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You missed the deadline for the contest, Deb, but it’s always a good time to spill your secret shame.
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You’re brave for sharing that story. Poor you.
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brave…stupid…two sides to the same coin, eh?
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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.)
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