Elwood 5566

You’re not supposed to write pooh stories! Actually, a few months ago someone made some nasty comments about an article I wrote about pooh humour. Anyone who has a problem with pooh stories is simply anal and needs to loosen up! Anyone who has traveled outside the domain of Club Med 18-30, anyone who has had to eat a drastically different diet or squat and then clean their bum from a tin can of water using their hand, knows the subject can be very entertaining and is well worth writing about, for all sorts of reasons.

Every Friday, I eat lunch with my boss; not an occasion to talk about pooh!  Usually we go somewhere a little further afield than the area  in which we live. I’d woken up early and started working straight away and didn’t each breakfast until around 11 am, which was no problem – except I’d cooked bean soup (된장 치게) and eaten it with some kimchi and acorn curd (두투리묵). The fuse for such food, especially without rice, depends on the individual, but mine is about an hour. If liquids are consumed, and I’d had several cups of coffee, it can be as little as 45 minutes. But I so engrossed in my writing, I was completely oblivious to my mistake.

Pooh on a bag

My boss calls at 11.30 and we drive off to the area fronting Keimyung University. Fifteen minutes later and we are sat in chicken bar. Its predominantly a beer bar that sells chicken by night and predominantly a chicken bar that serves beer in daylight hours, they’re all over Korea. The chicken is drenched in spicy sauce, or is fried in batter or perhaps served with a sweet soy sauce and a beer swishes it down nicely but, I never drink before work.

I’d felt the warnings on the brief walk to the restaurant but it hadn’t clicked and I was thinking they’d disappear but they actually intensified. I began to perspire. There was the panic too, because you know that when in the grip of needing to defecate you will do it anywhere; in your pants, squatting behind a car in public and even bent over in your bedroom holding your backside in a plastic shopping bag. This is almost my fourth year in Korea and I’ve never had to crap in any other toilet than my own unless in a hotel or the comfort of someone’s home. I’ve never had to take my chances on the street where, unless owned by nice restaurants or western style eateries, you can guarantee toilets are going to be grim.

About to explode!

There have only been a two occasions in my life when the fuse has been so short that I’ve only had seconds to find a toilet. Once was in Osnabruck, Germany, after a military exercise when all the toilets in my barrack block were occupied. I had to pooh in a carrier bag in my bedroom and that was illuminating as you never realise how  hot and heavy a pooh can be until you hold one in a bag.  The next occasion was some 20 years later, again in Germany, in a small town close to Bonn. That was out of the blue; one moment I was fine walking through a quaint little village with a small stream running through the center of it, next moment I had seconds to find a toilet. My third ordeal had just started!

‘I’ve got to use the loo!’ I announced and immediately made for the back of the restaurant. We should have chosen a more up-market location as the toilet was shared by several establishments and not easily reached. I found it with thirty seconds to spare and of course, not only was it a squat down job but there was no toilet paper. But I’m good, ex-military good and before I’d even got to the door and discovered conditions, I’d covered my options. My jeans and shoes were off within seconds and having already spotted the hose in the small garden that lay close by; I turned it on an dragged it into the toilet wedging the gushing end down the drain just inside the toilet door. Then, I closed the door, took off my boxers and a second later, in one expulsion, my late breakfast was reincarnated. As I was hosing my arse and swishing the bean soup into the sewers of Daegu, I suddenly realised what had caused my upset – my badly timed, watery breakfast! Drying my arse on one of the large hankies I use in hot weather, I quickly got dressed, repositioned the hose and washed my hands. Although the toilet was was grotty the soap was actually quite nice. I hadn’t even got my feet wet and neither had I crapped on my heels which is always a danger on a squat loo and is why I take my pants off! And by the time I got back to my table, a lovely plate of spicy chicken awaited.

© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.