As I’m going through this elimination diet, I’ve started thinking back on old reactions I’ve had to food. Things are really starting to make sense. Some less obvious, like my frequent trips to the bathroom or the phlegm build-up when I’d eat something with a lot of mayo on it. Others were a little more obvious. Like when I made several trips to Popeye’s (the supplement store, not the fried chicken place) trying to find the right protein powder because there was something in the ones I was using that gave me killer cramps. The rep kept saying “are you sure you don’t have a dairy allergy?” Of course not. I’m fine. It’s the powder that’s wrong.

One time, a few years ago, I went out with a group of friends for my buddy’s birthday. We did Korean food. It was pretty delicious but I can’t for the life of me remember what we ate at that restaurant. I faintly remember a beef dish mixed with eggs and rice. But I do remember what happened after.

We went to a fondue place that also served bubble tea. We ordered a few pots of chocolate fondue and a bubble tea each. I don’t remember which tea I had but it was definitely a milky one. And I didn’t hold back on that sweet milk chocolate. It was delicious but before we could even finish I knew I needed to use the bathroom.

But I was conflicted. The restaurant was very small with only one small bathroom that was positioned right next to the tables where everyone ate. There was no way I could use that. I could hold it, right? I was an adult, of course I could. Besides, my friend Ryan offered me a ride to the skytrain by his house so that was half of my trip home there. He made small talk with me during the drive but I was more focused on talking an ass volcano out of erupting.  So I gave him mostly one word answers and probably nattered on about unrelated stuff in an effort to seem normal.

“I really dig the Dark Knight movie. Heath Ledger did an amazing job.”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. His attention to animated series detail and like when the laugh because you know Mark Hamill was the greatest and there’s this underlining evil mixed with the smile and Harley is pretty cool in the show.” Sweat intensifies.

We arrived at his house. The skytrain was across the street but his wonderful, amazing, welcoming bathroom was upstairs. This was the crossroad. This is the moment that would determine the rest of the night. All I needed to say was, “Hey, man, mind if I use your bathroom real fast?”.  That’s it. He would’ve said yes and I would have left his apartment smelling like a crime scene.

“Thanks for the ride, boss. See you next time.”

He went inside and I walked to the skytrain. It really wasn’t that bad. I’d probably get a nice seat on there. It was 10pm on a Thursday. Who’s taking the skytrain? About 20,000 people coming from a Lady Gaga concert. That’s who. There was a line to even get into the station. Not to mention the flight of stairs that I took very slowly, one step at a time, releasing tiny farts into the faces of those following me up.

It took four trains before there was finally one with enough room to let me on. I wedge myself in and grabbed one of the poles. At this point my stomach was so bad that I was sure I’d poop myself if I took a single step. I had reached the point where I believed there was no way I was getting home without soiling myself for the first time as an adult. But it would not be on this skytrain. It would not be like this. I held strong to that pole.

Unfortunately, I was stood by the door and, as I said before, it was a rather busy night. Spaces started to pop up behind me but, of course, I couldn’t move into them. So anyone who entered through my door, was faced with me: an unmovable man who was mostly sweat and farted every time you touched him. People were pissed. They glared at me. Cursed at me under their breath. And all I could do was stare forward in defiance. I accept this.

After an eternity, I made it to my stop. I shuffled off and stood on the escalator down. But I still had a ten minute walk home. A ten minute walk which took me over thirty-five. I couldn’t move one foot more than six inches in front of the other and after every few steps, I had to stop, stand still, and wait for my stomach to implode before I could walk again. You know those guys who do eating competitions? They eat like a thousand hotdogs and after so many they do some kind of stomach adjustment to pack the food in? Well I was doing something like that. At this point I was unbelievably proud of myself for getting away from the public. If I did shit myself, nobody would be around to be affected. But I did have a room-mate and I started wondering what exactly one does when they are an adult child and have to clean their clothes after something like this. Is there a protocol? You can’t just chuck it all into the washing machine, right?

I stopped thinking about that. Instead, I focused on those few steps and the breaks in between. I had a rhythm going and by the time I made it to my block, I had stopped thinking I wasn’t going to make it. I was. I would not be defeated. Not today.

I recall making four stops just outside my house. Each time staring up at the window hoping my room-mate wouldn’t see me outside and wonder what he was doing. He may have thought I was drunk or something and come out to laugh, help, or at the very worst, tried to assist me by touching me. But I made it inside. I remember unlocking the door, letting it swing up, and just standing there for a while trying to figure out how I was going to step over the little ledge and, beyond that, make it up the stairs. That’s right, more stairs.

I took a deep breath and I did something that I never thought I could do. I ran. I ran up those stairs, a thunderous fart escaping me with each step. But that was ok. Farts were ok. I ran down the hallway praying nobody was in the bathroom. After all this effort I could not shit myself in the hallway of my own home. I praised Jesus out-loud when I saw the empty room.

I bolted inside and slammed the door behind me. As I did, I heard my room-mate’s bedroom door open follow by his voice. Mate? That you? I threw myself on the toiler and erupted into maniacal laughter. I had made it.

But what in the name of God could have caused something like that? You know what? There were green beans in there with a balsamic sauce. It was probably that.