I shit my pants in a Barnes & Noble while running for the bathroom. Upon arrival in the stall and shutting the door, I pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet, wiping the icing of shit off of my ass while looking down into the fistful of nougat bile staring up in convulsed shame like a father catching his 9-year-old with cigarettes at my sighing, shaking head. I had to do something. And fast. There was no way I could scoop out the sheer tonnage of dumpydump out of my boxer-briefs and endure the rest of the day without someone noticing the brutal smell or eyeing the prospective stain on the back of my pants from sitting in my wet shame crater for the rest of the afternoon.

Home was to far away to Taxi or take a train to change underwear and get back in time for class to start. There wasn't any choice within reason or permissibly moral sanity I could make without irreparable damage to my social life. "Class is starting soon, and Jacqueline is in that class, and she's always flirting with you using old Ohio Players lyrics and she's the only woman you know who loves Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp as much as you. She has a great sense of humor and that super-infectious belly laugh that she's embarrassed by but you don't care because only you can make her laugh that way. Plus, she has a beaming smile like an unmapped constellation and an ass on her like a revving '67 mustang fastback. You're beginning to cultivate a cool thing with her. You don't need to fuck it up by broadcasting to her and to the entire academy that you're an egregious pants-shitter. Whatever. You have to do something. Time is running out, you monster."

With that, and with rationality and consideration for my fellow man tossed painfully out the window, looked once through the crevice between the stall door and the wall out into the bathroom. There was one man at the sink. I stood up, carefully slipped my legs up and out of my pants - still wearing my shoes - and through my shit boxers. I wiped one final time, put my pants back on, and picked up my soiled boxer briefs. The man at the sink was on his phone. Time was of the essence. I couldn't just walk by him and throw my underwear in the trash. He would know everything. I turned away from the stall door, my shitty underwear in hand, facing the toilet. A cold solemn stare cloaked my innocence as I accepted the guilt and evil resolve of the decision I was about to make. I sighed once, walked towards the toilet, I tucked my boxer briefs wrapping my steaming mud bomb between the back of the toilet and the wall. I opened the stall door and walked out, making slow-burning eye contact with the man as I pass him. I left that bathroom a new man.