Now im a family man, the only way to get a game of chasing the white ball on a Saturday is to get up with the larks. Well 5.45 to be precise and sneak out the door before the baby stirs.
I’m 49 minutes from the golf course and now stop in every week to fill the car with gas at the local Shell and grab a quick Cappuccino from the Costa Coffee self service.
Thought I would go for a large and while it was brewing I thought to my time management skills from work and nip in for my pre-round dump at the service station toilet.
My thinking should have been these toilets are dirty, used by truckers and usually avoidable at all costs. While the golf club toilets are crystal clean plus have the added bonus of having a hard copy of the R&A rule book, which I always enjoy a quick flick through.
However I thought get it in early, drop the kids off at the pool, while the coffee brews, treat myself to a pastry and save myself 5 minutes, maybe even 10 minutes for extra practice putting once I get to the golf.
Now need to stop you as this is the weird part of the story. How is it you can go from thinking maybe I need the toilet to I’m desperate for a shite in a matter of 9.3 seconds. The same time it takes Bolt to run the 100m.
So even though it is basically only 4 steps, I hope it’s not like other service station toilets but who cares I’m now bursting, the old turtle’s head is coming out of his cave.
Open the door. Good start its clean. Even a sign up saying it gets cleaned. Impressive. Sign to wash your hands. All positive. Nice to think of hygiene.
Jabba the Hutt has been in before and dropped off his kids, uncles, aunts, cousins in fact half the cast of Starwars at the pool.
In other words, a huge shite, clogging up the bog.
I did that throw up in your mouth and had to swallow it, but I’m still desperate. The turtles head is now turtles neck. So I whipped the golf breeks (trousers to non-scots) in a blink of an eye and proceeded to unload the worlds second largest dump upon the worlds largest dump.
The sweat was pouring off me. The smell was horrendous but I actually felt good as it had solved my immediate problem.
So reached over to grab the toilet paper. Expecting to feel service station toilet paper. It has a texture closer to grease proof paper than the soft Andrex puppy paper. But NO……
All there was was cardboard.
Quick check and I see the thick brown cardboard roll. Bugger.
Now I’m sweating from pushing a big log in a disgusting toilet but now that has turned to a sweat from fear.
There is no toilet roll in site. No paper towels, it even has a fancy hand dryer.
What to do? Ok let’s think.
Ok let’s unscrew the toilet dispenser and all there is too see but a giant cardboard toilet roll innards.
Now before I go on, I need to provide you with some additional background to taking a jobby.
There are never two jobbies the same. Big wide ones, small rabbit droppings, lush squeaky ones, horrible smelly ones, etc. however under the current circumstances what I was going for was a clean whistler. The poop that slides out without hitting the sides. Where one sheet of toilet paper is not even needed.
Unfotunatly that wasn’t the case. It was a big dirty. The one where a huge shite has tangled up the Anal beard. BASTARD…… Get it up YEE.
So I’m sweating, no bog roll, half a chocolate mousse tangled in the old Anal beard, and then I decide the only call for action is to use the thick cardboard roll to wipe the old behind.
Effective. Well I wish it was. About as useful as an Austrian in a bar when it’s his round.
Ill be back with no booze……
So wiping your arse with industrial strength cardboard is both very painful and completely inefficient.
Then having a small jobby on the edge of cardboard is not ideal. So I had to throw that in the toilet on the big jabba dump.
The sweat is now pouring off me. Have no idea to fix the situation. Then I remember there are Costa Coffee napkins out at the machine outside.
Ok calm down. No one can hear you. You have half a chocolate mousse stuck in the old South Pole Santa, the toilet is plugged up worse than a festival toilet on a Sunday night.
There is only one thing left to do, take off the £12 pringle golf socks. Stretch them out and tweak them in between the old buttocks. A layer of fabric between the poopie and the golf breeks. Now waddling like a penguin, I’m back mobile, drenched in sweat.
Peak my head out the toilet door. All clear.
Waddle …. Waddle ….. Waddle …….
Now peak into the garage shop. What a boost, one guy at the till.
Ok quick waddle…quick waddle….quick waddle
Over to the Costa Coffee machine, grab a huge handful of paper napkins.
Guy at till looks at me weird.
Quicker waddle….quicker waddle…..quicker waddle …. back to the toilet.
Ok now it’s all a disgusting scenario, but this is all about survival.
Remove the poop covered pringle socks from buttocks, put them into toilet on top of industrial cardboard roll, on top of my jobby, on top of Jabba the Huts giant jobby.
Start to clean the old pooper with a form of Costa Coffee tissue paper.
Fantastic….must say feeling good.
The cold sweat and fear is leaving and life is getting better.
Finish pull up the breeks.
Look in the bog. What a mess!
Socks, cardboard rolls, loads of poops, costa coffee tissues. Not nice.
It’s probably just habitual what I did next, but in my relief I wasn’t thinking.
I hit the flusher.
Rather than everything disappearing it started to come up the other way.
Like the Mississippi bursting its banks, poop water coming up over the lid, socks floating down the torrent, thick cardboard roll carrying two jobbies side by side riding the crest of a wave ……
OH OH…. Think its time to leave.
Ok keep your cool, grab your coffee and head to the desk to pay.
Now he must be thinking what I’m upto so best to go on the offensive.
‘Your toilet was an absolute disgrace, I just had a time out of hell, even lost my new pringle golf socks’
‘Sorry sir, ill let management know’
Ok that’s fine, but now I’m running late. I race all the way to the golf club. Spending 36 minutes driving going over everything that has just happened in my head. Make it to The first golf tee just in the nick of time.
Stand there, suffering from an itchy bum, with a damaged poop shoot and blast it straight over the fence and out of bounds.