![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
My Journal of a Thousand Intestinal Woes
Feb. 27th, 2008 02:22 pmNot all my woes are Metro-inspired, mind you. This morning, for example, I was suffering what I expect was the alimentary response to my dunderheaded attempt, on awakening in the wee small hours of this morning, to slake my last-night's-beer-driven thirst with more or less a quart of 1 percent organic cow's milk. Now I'm not lactose-intolerant—I'm actually lactose-addicted—but given the shindig last night for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jaegerbeast and several further Coronas at Liv bar (where writhed several beautiful and mostly naked young black men); given these circumstances, pouring a quart of milk into my empty stomach this morning probably wasn't the best idea.
The G/I distress didn't start in earnest until I was already in the Metro station, and rather than head home I thought I'd just tough it out. I sat on two warm, stuffy Metro trains with increasingly urgent intestinal cramps that said "Find me a toilet NOW, you stupid milk-guzzling dunderhead." Serious pain and serious effort to keep my sphincter clenched tightly; the kind of discomfort that has me running emergency scenarios through my head: asking the station manager to PLEASE let me use the employee rest room; getting off at the next stop where I knew retail space like Starbucks or similar was nearby; finding the nearest vegetative cover from the Metro station and just letting loose...
Worst of all, I knew the Fairfax Connector bus was going to be overheated. And it was. Dude had the heat cranking and it must have been 30 degrees(1) in there. Finally, as the 427 bus pulled from the West Falls Church bus bay onto 267, I saw to my utter horror that traffic was pretty much at a standstill, thanks to a big truck-borne LED arrow sign that read, "We really couldn't give a flying fuck if you shit your pants, Gourd, now is when it's most convenient for us to close the Dulles toll road down to one lane, so fuck you."
It must be noted that in 7 years of commuting to Tysons and Reston on buses down Rte. 267, I have never seen it closed down to one lane before. Never ever. Not once.
Anyway, the bus finally made it to West Park Transit station, whence I walked my 6-minute walk to my office, only today 7 minutes with smaller steps and lots of sweating and grimacing going on; opened my office door, put my stuff down, took my coat off, and turned around to see my colleague Yo-Yo Pa(2) walking past my door to the bathroom right next to my office.
(1) Celsius.
(2) Not his real name, but a real Splatcom employee.
jaegerbeast and several further Coronas at Liv bar (where writhed several beautiful and mostly naked young black men); given these circumstances, pouring a quart of milk into my empty stomach this morning probably wasn't the best idea.The G/I distress didn't start in earnest until I was already in the Metro station, and rather than head home I thought I'd just tough it out. I sat on two warm, stuffy Metro trains with increasingly urgent intestinal cramps that said "Find me a toilet NOW, you stupid milk-guzzling dunderhead." Serious pain and serious effort to keep my sphincter clenched tightly; the kind of discomfort that has me running emergency scenarios through my head: asking the station manager to PLEASE let me use the employee rest room; getting off at the next stop where I knew retail space like Starbucks or similar was nearby; finding the nearest vegetative cover from the Metro station and just letting loose...
Worst of all, I knew the Fairfax Connector bus was going to be overheated. And it was. Dude had the heat cranking and it must have been 30 degrees(1) in there. Finally, as the 427 bus pulled from the West Falls Church bus bay onto 267, I saw to my utter horror that traffic was pretty much at a standstill, thanks to a big truck-borne LED arrow sign that read, "We really couldn't give a flying fuck if you shit your pants, Gourd, now is when it's most convenient for us to close the Dulles toll road down to one lane, so fuck you."
It must be noted that in 7 years of commuting to Tysons and Reston on buses down Rte. 267, I have never seen it closed down to one lane before. Never ever. Not once.
Anyway, the bus finally made it to West Park Transit station, whence I walked my 6-minute walk to my office, only today 7 minutes with smaller steps and lots of sweating and grimacing going on; opened my office door, put my stuff down, took my coat off, and turned around to see my colleague Yo-Yo Pa(2) walking past my door to the bathroom right next to my office.
(1) Celsius.
(2) Not his real name, but a real Splatcom employee.
