Entering the bathroom with a few strangers, as you do when you walk into a set of stalls at a public facility, we were all delightedly, and a bit shockingly, surprised to see a bathroom that mimicked a nail salon with rows of brown leather cushion lined chairs rising up in layers like small skyscrapers above the plumbing in front of them.
When you sat down it felt like sitting in a nail salon chair, which is weird to say as I’ve never been to get my nails did, but it’s what I imagine it must be like. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t butt against porcelain.
Before I sat down I looked about me as to whether I should do this. Everyone else was doing it, so I felt it must be publicly acceptable that we were all going to witness each other shit. No stall doors. No shame. My rear was in gear.
The two girls to the right of me started to banter with me. I forgot what we said, but we all looked at each other expectedly wondering what we were going to drop and what these machines in front of us were going to do.
Some vibrations started on my machine. Subtle, but I could feel them shuffling things about in my intestine. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It didn’t feel like a message. There were little spots of LED lights that shifts colors in front of me on the console. I couldn’t tell if the shifting colors meant anything. The sound of the vibrations of our chair machines was enough to make anything falling into a toilet bowl inaudible. You could not hear any tinkling.
I got up after a while still thinking I was constipated with the poo, but when I got up I was surprised to see little, wrinkled, compact pouches the size of small tootsie rolls scattered across the back of my chair about where my butthole had been. I had not felt anything come out.
The girls next to me saw them too. “Oh. Look. See you did it!” they laughed and exclaimed, as I had told them I was getting up because I couldn’t make this bathroom work for me. I thought it was too frenetic for my poop to want to come out. I was a bit dumbfounded because the color of the poop was light and the were hints of a pastel green mixed in. It all made me sick. Being there. Looking at my transformed poop that had been coaxed out of my body in some weird method by the machine.
I woke up. Ate a little cantelope, watched a video on YouTube from Claire Wineland called “What it Feels Like to Die”, and then I had to poop.
Was this whole dream about having to poop in real life, but being unable to because my body also wanted me to be sleeping?