The drive from Columbus, Ohio to Cincinnati is a relatively short one, a little less than two hours, and monumentally boring. A microwave burrito from the gas station would suffice as breakfast due to how butt-ass early I had to be there. I met up in some nameless-faceless mall with my new district manager and I met all the other hosers who got talked into doing this crap just like me. First there was “Sinatra” from Louisville, “fat guy” from Dayton, “that one guy” from who-gives-a-shit-ville, so on and so forth. Who really cares, let’s get to work.

We all spent the day humping retail browser rack full of merchandise after browser rack onto rented U-Haul trucks. A lot of bending over and lifting from the knees was required. Needless to say, my guts were talking to me. I had one brewing in the oven. It didn’t help that midway through the day, in a gesture of gratitude, the district manager took us to the mall’s eatery, T.G.I. Greasy Shit In A Bowl. The work in the store was far from over so we kind of rushed through the meal and got right back to work.

Sooner or later, the rented U-Hauls were full to the limit, but we just had to get everything across town in one trip, according to someone whose name and stature escapes me. Me, being the hero that I am, offer up the use of my brand new pick-up truck. At this point, I still had to take a crap, but it wasn’t that bad, I diligently worked away. Besides, I couldn’t go take a dump now, my new truck was being filled by people that had absolutely no desire to do so. Dammit, I had to supervise!

Eventually, everything got moved, all the way across town to the store’s new location and we worked well into the night unloading the trucks to complete the deal. Finally, when everything was done, we were released into the night. I was offered a beer or something but politely declined, as a dump had been brewing all day. I wanted to get back home and take a comfortable shit. I sit in my new truck and get about 45 minutes into the drive home when it hits me – T.G.I. Napalm Bowel Destroyer had done its damage, colliding head on with the initial stack of whatever was brewing earlier. I had to shit, and I had to do it soon. It was like there was a Predator in my belly trying to kick its way out through my anus. I bit my lip when I saw a sign that said “next rest stop – 40 miles.”

40 miles and a nearly busted forehead vein later, I come to a screeching halt at the rest stop just south of Columbus on I-71. I don’t see any other cars and a few big-rigs in the lot outside as I make a dash for the men’s restroom. I sit down on the pot and with Bruce Lee force the birdman escapes from Alcatraz (if you know what I mean). It’s such a relief but far from over. I make one of those long, sasquatchy grunts. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one grunting.

From somewhere close by came a few shorter grunts. My eyebrows went from raised to worry. I went into complete silence, clinching every orifice on my body. There it goes again, “ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh.” What the fuck is that? “Ugh, ugh, ugh” was the only reply. I bent down to look under the stalls when I see two – count ‘em two – large pairs of feet both pointed toward the back wall, slightly moving on each “ugh.” The mystery duo had similar types of shoes/boots on: brown leather, Wolverine-style work boots. Both around a size 9 to 11. Is that two men fucking?

“Hello?”

“Ugh, ugh, ugh…”

That was enough for me. The only time I ran faster than that was on initial entry into the rest stop restroom. I barely got my pants on all the way before reaching the truck. Did I wipe? Fuck no! Who has time to wipe when there are truckers fucking two stalls away from you? I drove the rest of the way home in my own shit. And I still agree with myself to this day that that was my best option.

Honestly, this could have been the most romantic day of some young trucker’s life. Don’t let me get in the way of your beautiful love-making gentlemen. I should have said something like “you’ve got a smokey on your tail,” but I was much too freaked out to be clever.

Ten-four, good buddy. Over and out.