Before you read any further, I want to post a small disclaimer: Dear Readers, if you haven’t yet realized, I have a sense of humor drier than the Sahara and more warped than the floorboards of Collegetown. Warning #2: if you’re a little squeamish skip to Will’s column on your right, as it’s probably more to your liking. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.That being said, I want to share a little story with you. I hold the record at my pediatrician’s office for going the longest without pooping. Thirteen days, to be exact. On day seven, my parents took me to the pediatrician. The doctor gave me laxatives. On day 10, my parents took me back and said, “This isn’t working,” so the doctor gave me more laxatives. On day 13, as my mother so lovingly put it, I exploded.Well, sort of. In a series of events I imagine must have been horrendously unfunny at the time but hysterically entertaining after the fact, baby Sam exploded poop all over my mother, grandmother and the walls. In a rough estimate, my mom said that I managed to get poop on a door that was more than 10 feet away from my crib, which, I think, takes some serious talent when armed with nothing but my baby sphincter. And I guess the lava kept on flowing, so to speak, as in the following 10 minutes I succeeded in filling up eight diapers.It’s probably obvious by now that I’ve been full of shit for a long time. All terrible puns aside, I think poop is a really weird but highly entertaining subject. I find it terribly odd that people give me weird looks when I tell them about the escapades of my baby colon, but sex would be a perfectly acceptable thing to talk about. I feel like either act is equally intimate, so why the weirdness?There’s just something about bowel movements that make people feel awkward talking about them. I just don’t understand why — everybody poops! But for reasons unexplained, there is a highly prevalent but seldom talked about shit psychosis. On one episode of Glee, Finn scuttles away to the bathroom during a dinner with Quinn’s family so he can make a phone call (dump dials, as I like to call them, are a whole ’nother ballgame). After talking for several minutes he says, “I have to go; they’ll think I’m pooping.” Have you ever, while going about your business in a bathroom, had thoughts like, “Crap, I’ve been gone 10 minutes. Now the entire class is going to think I’m going number two?” I ask, because I’ve had these kinds of thoughts before. But on the flip side, I have never been sitting in class thinking, “Girl with the cool earrings has been missing for a while. I wonder if she’s pooping?” Because really, when I’m not paying attention in class I’m thinking about the possible shitting scenarios of my classmates. Yes, definitely.Other thoughts include wondering if the girl in the bathroom stall next to mine is going to recognize my shoes and call me out for pooping if she happens to spot my ripped up green Converses later in the day. The irrationality of that thought is pretty high up on the charts, but I mention it because I know I’m not the only one whose pooping paranoia has ever gotten the better of them. For some reason we like to pretend pooping doesn’t happen. The worst is when guys say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Girls don’t poop.” Considering that I’m in possession of a uterus and pair of 38Cs, and as an infant my butt went off like an atomic bomb, I’m going to go with false on this one.And then there are all of the euphemisms for pooping because we’re all too ashamed to just say that we’re going to poop. Things like, “taking the Obamas to the Oval Office,” “taking the kids to the pool,” “feeding the water gods,” “going to phone Elvis,” “releasing the beasts,” “visiting the fortress of solitude,” “riding the porcelain pony” and my favorite, “I’ve got an ICBM coming in.” Really people? You might as well just say “I’m going to uncontrollably poop in your bathroom” because that’s what everyone thinks you’re about to go do anyway.It’s also strange that we pretend that people do nothing but pee or “take the Browns to the Superbowl” on the toilet. This couldn’t be more false. I’m pretty sure a lot of my early reading skills were developed atop the porcelain throne. And even now, I’m a bathroom reader and I know a lot of you are closet bathroom readers too. The only difference is that in the current day I’ve upgraded to responding to texts and occasionally playing Words With Friends while I’m chillin’ in the water closet. I even took it a step further when I plastered the walls of my bathroom with brightly colored GRE flashcards. I figured, I’m going to be in the bathroom anyway, I might as well be productive while I’m in there. Some of those words actually came up when I took the GRE, so if you’re looking for an innovative way to study, grab some notecards and hit up that new Chipotle.If Jon Dubrin ’11 could run for the S.A. on a platform of upgrading Cornell’s toilet paper supply from one-ply to two-ply (circa 2009), I’m pretty sure having a better open discourse about poop in general is not that far off. As my housemate once said, “Once you start talking about pooping you can pretty much talk about anything after that.” It’s true. Poop is basically the best level-three ice breaker you could possibly use. I’d be happy to discuss it with you, assuming that after reading this any guy will ever be willing to go on a date with me again. Oh, well. Shit happens.
Sam Dean is a senior in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. She may be reached at email@example.com. Casual WTFery appears alternate Thursdays this semester.
Original Author: Sam Dean