For the past five days, I have been in New York City for this little conference called BlogHer 2010. I had a blast, and I plan on writing a full recap soon, but for now I thought I would talk about something that happened that made me realize how brave I am.
I don’t have any problem speaking to new people or introducing myself. I’m not shy about talking to anyone, even the bloggers that are considered “big”. Throw me into a room of random people, and I’ll find somebody to talk to with relative ease.
But you know what I won’t do? Do you know what event shakes me to my utter core and makes me tremble and want to cry? Do you know what I thought I was never brave enough to do, regardless of the circumstances?
Poop in a public bathroom.
Like a friend of mine, I refuse to use public bathrooms for anything other than urinary satisfaction. When I was a child, I went to summer camp for a week and didn’t poop the entire time. My mother still loves to tell the story about driving me home and watching me sprint for the bathroom, leaving my clothes in my wake.
So, where do you think is the worst possible place to have the sickening, twisting realization that it was going to be physically impossible to clench your ass tight enough until you get home?
Not just a public bathroom. How about an airport bathroom?
Wait. That’s not bad enough. How about the Newark Airport bathroom?
Newark Airport is, in the words of my esteemed Voices of the Year Keynote Speaker friend, “the dirtiest airport I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in airports in India and Nepal, and this is fucking disgusting compared to those.”
I’m not going to go into detail about my Newark poop adventure, but suffice it to say that if the other patrons in the bathroom thought they heard the occasional sob, they’d be right.
And I totally have to burn these clothes.