Daddy’s Little Dividend

(SENT IN FROM PAKISTAN VIA EMAIL)

I, the Owl, have created a new record. We’re not talking about any record here. We’re talking about a record so unlikely to be broken, that it would amaze me if it were topped in my lifetime. We’re not talking about some pansy, everyday record.

100 yard dash? Meaningless.
Fastest mile? Boring.
First man on the moon? Yawn.
All of these, while nice, cannot hold a candle to my record.

I have set the record for not pooping. That’s right. I have set a record for not pooping. We’re not talking about constipated-I-can’t-poop-and-it’s-killing-me-not-pooping. No sir. None of that pansy I’m-medically-incapable stuff. This was honest to God, old-fashioned willpower from start to finish. I gutted this one out. No pun intended. As you can see, I’m a mite proud. Which, for some reason doesn’t disturb me half as much as it’s probably disturbing you right now.

When we arrived in our current town, I knew I was in for the typical border town experience. Most places around on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan do not offer much in the way of amenities. So when we checked into our simple but relatively clean hotel I had resigned myself to be happy that it had A/C. I knew the toilet would be a “squatty” and I had steeled myself for 2 week of overstretching my quads every time I had a bowel moment.

As we checked in Monday afternoon however, the hotel managers let slip that there was a room with a western-style toilet on the premises. Seeing the look of lust on my face, Sabir, our main lead man, quickly asked them if it was available. They replied no, it was occupied, but it would be free in a day or two. That was when I formed my plan. My evil, terrible plan.

You see the last time I had used a squatty was when we were in Hyderabad in May. All of the team got horribly, horribly sick. We’re talking puking, fever, the trots … sick. Using a squatty while you can barely stand or for that matter sit, is not fun. Many hijinks ensued. Ah, good times. The memory of those days is burned in my mind. So upon finding out that a regular toilet would be available in 24-48 hours, I steeled myself for holding out until it was mine. Oh yes, intestines, you will not digest until further notice … and oh sphincter? You are mine. You even think about cutting loose … with even gas, and you’ve had it.
Monday night was no problem. Even though the last time I had used the bathroom was Saturday night, I knew that the morning would bring my salvation. On Tuesday morning however, we found out it might be another day before the promised land was attained. Still I held out. My evil plan started to go awry however, when Tuesday afternoon hit. It was the Chicken Jalfrezi that got me. As soon as we had lunch, my intestines knew something big had hit my stomach. The communication between my intestines and my brain went something like this:

I: He did it again, he had the curry.
B: I know, but for all our sakes, you must hold on.
I: Are you kidding me? Chicken Jalfrezi? Do you know what that does to me?
B: You’ve eaten worse. Remember the monkey brains in India?
I: The monkey brains didn’t come out like a blowtorch on steroids.
B: Look, it’ll only be until tonight, tomorrow at latest. You can do it.
I: I can’t do it. Look I got two days worth of stuff stuck in here and if I don’t clear it before the Jalfrezi hits, a lot of innocent people are gonna get hurt.
B: Right. Well, I’ll see what I can do. Just grit your teeth and we’ll get through this.

After that my brain immediately started telling me what the intestines had said and I immediately told my brain to get lost. Disaster averted. Once Tuesday night came, I knew I was in trouble. We spent 3 hours going from village to village taking care of things and the roads, lo, they were bumpy.

Upon our return all seemed lost … the other party had not left the room I coveted. I knew I would have to capitulate and use the squatty. I was beaten. As I slunk back to my room and lay on my bed, I steeled myself for the inevitable. Just as I was ready to slink into the bathroom in rushed the hotel manager. In broken English, he told us the room was ready and started moving our things. Kindly, he and another man moved all our things into the new room and proudly pointed into the bathroom which contained … a squatty.

However, next to the squatty, gleaming in all its wonderful glory was a commode. Yes, there it stood, a wonderful porcelain gift from God to man’s dignity and bowels. Ok, it wasn’t really gleaming. Nothing gleams in Pakistan, especially in the bathrooms. It was however fully functioning and lo, it was good.

So good.