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The chronicles of a sixth grader







The year was 1996 (or maybe 1997, my math isn't very good). As an emotional sixth grader in a very competitive basketball league (you know the one I'm talking about, with all the parents bitching that their child needs more playing time or they're not going to get their scholarship) at this giant basketball facility called "The Hoop." It was the Mecca of basketball facilities. If basketball was a religion, you probably wouldn’t come here, but you might think about it. You know, like how Mormons consider going to Utah before realizing that their religion suffers from a mental defect and then they decide to rape a bunch of little boys. Oh wait. The little boys thing, that was the Catholics. Sorry.







Anyway, both of my parents attended almost every single game of mine and at least one of them was always in attendance. Except March 16th. Trust me. I remember the date. Not because of the events, but because it is my aunt's birthday. With both of my parents sick in bed; throwing up, diarrhea I'm sure; she made a big fuss about my mom asking her to take me to my game. She wouldn't stay, but she would at least give me a ride to and from the game.







I arrived at the game and went through all the warm ups and what not, being the tallest kid on the team got the honor of starting the game going for the tip-off. I tipped the ball back to a teammate. We went down the court to setup our offense. I was set up at the top of the key. He passed me the ball and I put a little move on the guy guarding me and got around him. I did a two foot jump stop before I shot to help avoid the other guy that had come to help guard me. When I landed from my jump stop, something felt weird. I didn't know what it was. Did my dog just die? I heard that if you have a really close connection to animals that when they die you can feel it.







When I shot the ball, I got fouled and fell to the floor. Oh. Now I have a better idea what the problem was. I jump to my feet and run by the bench towards the locker room. My coach tried to stop me, "Chase! You have to go shoot free throws now!"







As I ran past him I yelled back "Sorry, I need to make a phone call!" Luckily I was far enough away from him now that he couldn't stop me or anything. I'm not sure what they did about me leaving, but at that point it really was one of my lesser worries.







I run into the locker room. It was set up with all the lockers right in the front when you walk in, with the bathroom area behind that and the showers further behind that. It was all open though, you can see the back of the shower area when you walk into the locker room. I ran straight into the only stall in there (why is there only one stall at a place like this?) and ripped my shorts down and sat down on the toilet. Shit instantly began flowing from my ass. I say flow, because I really had no control over it. It was like a river. No. I take that back. It was comparable to the tsunami that just struck those unfortunate… uhhh… people (yeah I don’t read the news much, I don't even remember the country it hit. PS I am American can you tell). I looked down while the flow of shit continued. Wow. I didn't know tighty whities could hold that much shit in them.







It dawned on me right then. If I just shit my pants, and then fell to the floor… Fuck. There is shit all over my ass. I concentrate as hard as I can and the shit flow slows down and then stops completely. I'm not done yet, but this will give me a second.







I stand up and, just as I suspected, find shit all over the toilet seat (which meant it was also all over my ass cheeks). The thought of sitting back in my own shit to finish taking a shit really grossed me out. So I took a bunch of toilet paper and wiped the seat down. It took me almost a whole roll. Finally I got it clean and was about to sit back down before realizing that there was still shit all over my ass. Damn it. I then got this brilliant idea to stand on the toilet seat and squat down to finish my shit.







At this point I am standing, naked, on the toilet continuing my Hershey squirt shit. I didn't take into account the splash factor though. Because of my height off the toilet, shit started splashing and got all over my legs. I was committed to this though. I would just have to clean the mess later. After what seemed like forever (with my anus burning for the last half of it) the shit finally ceased. This, however, was only my first problem.







Let me recap. I am a sixth grader at a giant public facility standing naked in the locker room covered in shit with shitty underwear in front of me and no other clothes and no parental supervision to help me out of my predicament. I just prayed to god that I didn't get any shit on my uniform. I stood here for a few minutes waiting for this guy to leave the locker room and tried to decide my course of action.







First things first. Wipe my ass. Oh yeah. Remember how I used almost a full roll of toilet paper wiping the seat off? Well it was the only roll in the stall. I used what was left of it and then went back to the drawing board. I devised a complex plan that involved me running really fast into the shower and showering all the shit off of me.







I waited until the locker room was clear and then made my run for it. Right when I got the shower started, some old guy walked in. It is probably a good thing neither of us had a camera because he probably would have taken pictures and whacked off to it and I probably would have taken a picture of his face and won millions of dollars because it was so fucking funny. He walked out of the locker room about as quickly as he walked in, abandoning whatever he had entered to do.







I eventually got all the shit off of me and was dripping wet. Oops. I need a towel. I didn't think that far ahead. This locker room doesn’t even have paper towels, just hand blow-dryers. I look around, and see my socks laying there. I decide that I will have to dry myself off with those.







As you're probably guessing, that plan didn't workout. It did, however, help somewhat. I then decide that I will just dry my hair, put on my jersey and go back to the game. I turn on the hand blow-dryer and stick my head under it. It only took a couple minutes to get my hair dry and then I attempted further drying parts of my body using the blow-dryer. I eventually just put my jersey back on (without undies) and then put my shoes back on (without socks).



This left me with one more problem, my shitty underwear. Being the incredible mastermind I was, I came up with a plan within seconds. I picked up the underwear by two clean parts of the elastic, opened a vacant locker, and flung them in.







I had planned on claiming I was sick so that I didn't have to play anymore, but as I walked out of the locker room I found my aunt in complete hysteria. My coach thought I had run away. Apparently the game finished over an hour ago. Oops. I couldn't bring myself to explain my problem though, so I just let them think what they wanted to think, which resulted in my parents deciding I wasn't ready for the pressures of tournament basketball and pulling me off the team.