I've visited lots of toilets in my 46 years on this planet. Thankfully, they're almost everywhere (except when you really need one). Most of the time, a visit to the lavatory is an uneventful experience; but sometimes, the toilet experience can be one to remember. This series is a recollection of some of those memorable moments.

The Jobby Interview

About 10 years ago I took my wife for a job interview in a place called Irlam near Manchester, England. We knew she would be in there for at least an hour so I decided to have a little look around. After a short while I realised I needed to evacuate pretty urgently and began to look around for the public toilets. When I did eventually find them I rushed across a car park to the entrance and was very disappointed to find they were closed.

Across the road was a row of shops and as I approached with gritted teeth, the realisation that these too were closed sent a shiver down my spine all the way to my bowels. I was getting desperate and needed to unload as a matter of utmost urgency. Looking around I saw a road sign for the train station. I walked as fast as I could with my buttocks clenched and the train station could not come fast enough. The 5 minute walk felt like an hour and my heart sank when I discovered that the train station was also closed.

At this point I knew I would have to have a wildie (an open air poo). The main road on which I stood certainly didn't seem the appropriate place so I vaulted a nearby fence into the train station grounds. Looking around I could see the empty station and platform. Across the railway lines was a small tunnel which led to the exit on the other side of the station. I scrambled down the embankment and headed for the tunnel whilst scanning the floor for anything I could use to clean up the impending aftermath.

As I reached the tiny tunnel the toilet gods smiled upon me as I saw a white paper bag lying on the ground next to the tunnel entrance. I grabbed it and headed inside to do my dirty deed. Indeed I was squatting in the tunnel and halfway through my duty when I realised this paper bag was only one half paper with the other half being clear plastic. The bag was one of those sweet packets in which you could see the contents through the plastic.

I tore off the useless plastic and was left with a small piece of paper only slightly larger than my hand. With the main part of the job now done I considered how to get the most from this small piece of paper and realised that the paper was more like greaseproof paper than ordinary paper. This was going to be a troublesome parp removal. I tore the waxy paper in half and used the first piece to spread the filthy remains around. The evidence contained on the first piece of paper suggested to me that I had a long way to go to conduct a successful clean up operation and I didn't fancy my chances of finishing the job with just one tiny piece of slippery paper left. Nevertheless it was all I had and it would have to do for now so I moved in on the offensive and shifted what I could with what I had.

Upon using the final piece of paper I stayed in the squat position for a little minute as I pondered what to do next. Looking around there was nothing. The tunnel was empty except for a pile of shit, a piece of plastic film and two slices of mucky paper. Something told me it would not be a very good idea to leave it at this point lest I destroy any romantic notions my young wife still had about me. The thought of meeting her after her interview with a sore arse and stinking of shit didn't really appeal so I would have to come up with something to improve this cack removal situation.

Still squatting and not wanting to let my butt cheeks come into contact with each other I somehow managed to remove my shoes and trousers as I hopped from one foot to the other. My underpants then came off and I used them to finish the job in this now particularly smelly tunnel. As I disposed of my underpants on top of the pile, thoughts of being seen in the tunnel wearing only a tee shirt and a pair of socks entered my mind so as quickly as I could I donned my trousers, slipped on my shoes and got the hell out of there and back over the fence.

Half an hour later I was relieved to find out that my wife didn't get the job so I would never ever have to visit Irlam again and be reminded about this experience. She asked me what I'd been up to and I told her 'Nothing really. Everything was closed.'

That night as we undressed for bed she noticed I had somehow lost my underpants (I'd completely forgotten about it) and I explained that they were uncomfortable so I preferred to go without. She burst out laughing at me and knew me much better than that. 'OK' she said 'where did you go for a shit?' There was no escape from her female intuition and I had to come clean and describe the luxurious toilet situation in Irlam town centre on a Monday morning. She shook her head and laughed at my manly ways and we had a good laugh about the thought of the first person to use the tunnel after the station opened.

I learned an important lesson that day which was to always carry a piece of suitable toilet paper in my pocket just in case of emergency. I also learned that sweet packets are not very versatile and that underpants are extremely useful indeed.

I do hope this tale will come in handy one day and will save one of you from such an experience. So remember friends, always keep a piece of loo roll handy.....or a spare pair of underpants!

This is a @comedyopenmic entry so I nominate @abdullah67 and @gmenka to push one out.

Thanks for reading.

STEEMONKEY🐒

Previous Toilet Tales

The Glastonbury Experience

The Casablanca Performance

Disaster In Debenhams