Tummy Boy
Christ, I can never just get back into the swing of things after the holidays. Do you guys have that? Like you need an adjustment period before you have to get up and get going again? I've been writing more on the new manuscript and outlining stuff for the blog, but it's been a drag. It feels like I should have done more than I have. We're what, a week into the new year and I've pretty much just sat on my ass taking pills and swilling diet Coke. It's been a bit of doom & gloom on here lately, so I thought, why not kick off the year with some laughing at my expense? It's one of those things that you can look back on and laugh, but at the moment you just want life to end.
Those of you who've followed me or read my blog for a while will know that I've had some rather interesting experiences in school. Today's blog will be no different on that front. This happened when I was about 8 years old, almost 20 years ago, but it's just about as vivid as when it happened to me. During my education, I went on many school trips, but this one was my first and far most memorable one. Field trips are supposed to educate children, prepare them for the future and this little adventure to a candle factory/ shop did just that and more.
Those of you who've followed me or read my blog for a while will know that I've had some rather interesting experiences in school. Today's blog will be no different on that front. This happened when I was about 8 years old, almost 20 years ago, but it's just about as vivid as when it happened to me. During my education, I went on many school trips, but this one was my first and far most memorable one. Field trips are supposed to educate children, prepare them for the future and this little adventure to a candle factory/ shop did just that and more.
It was toward the end of the school year. It was less than a month before the summer holidays and my teacher wanted to do something for us kids. I'd looked forward to the trip for weeks. However, the morning of the trip my stomach hurt. I didn't want to miss out on the trip, so I didn't tell my mother as we prepared to go on the day trip. I figured the tummy soreness would go away and it wouldn't be a problem. We got on the coach and drove for what seemed like ages (really it was about an hour and a half, but an eternity to a child) and arrived at the cute little candle place. It was done up like a small little barn and village. We departed the coach and broke up into our little group that we had agreed on the day before. My mum was our group leader; I can't remember what my group was called, but I'm sure it had a cutesy-ass little name like most primary school groups do on these trips. Each group was to go through the 'how candles are made tour' then we could make our own. I looked forward to the prospect of pouring hot wax all over my group mates. (Sadly, it didn't happen entirely.)
Following the tour, my stomach started to gurgle again. I was hoping that it was just me being sort of hungry or being anxious at having to spend so much time with kids I didn't know all that well. Then lightening pain shot through my stomach and I had to run to the toilets. I emptied my guts into the toilet hoping that this would be the only time I'd need to do this. I slipped back into the group like a ghost and followed my group mates to the canteen. 'This is the end of this.' I remember thinking to myself as I sat there drinking my juice, not daring to add any fuel to the fire. Things settled down and I went off to make candle hands with my classmates.
There were different vats of coloured wax we could dip out fingers and hands in, as many layers as we wanted, and a bucket of cold water to dunk out hands in afterwards. As I stood there my hands submerged in wax, the familiar tummy pain spread through my lower abdomen. Panic began to flood me as did the thought of 'What if I crap my pants here with my hands covered in wax?' I hurriedly freed my hands from the waxy prison with the help of an employee and scrambled away. I remember her calling me, telling me that I needed to collect my wax hands and I told her I'd be back I had to do something.
I barely made it. Sat there I was wondering why this was happening to me. Why couldn't this happen on a day or normal classes, not a trip day? If I'd known the word 'motherfucker' at the time, I'd probably have used it. ((That word came a little bit later.)) I heard the teacher telling my classmates to use the toilets before we left. My mother came in and found me and asked what I was doing. I told her that I was just doing what I was told and that my rainbow wax hands were on the table there and she could get them if she wanted. I prayed that I could make it back to the school without incident. I was terrified that something was going to let loose and that I'd never be able to live it down.
I finished up, collected my things and made my way to the coach. I don't remember my mum sitting with me. I think she was up in the front of the coach with the other parents. The journey back to school, I don't remember at all except for tummy rumblings and the worry that I'd have an accident. I think all that worry did more harm than good, you know how anxiety can disrupt digestion. (God, how I know that now.)
The streets became familiar. We're almost there. 10 minutes away. I'm home free! Nothing's going to-Oh, Christ. It hit me right there, like a cruel bold of lightning from above. I think that was the first moment when I started doubting the existence of God. I didn't want to get off the coach. I think most of you would feel that same level of 'I'm really fucked now' that I did, sitting there, my pants saturated. We pulled into the school car park and everyone was getting up but I didn't dare move. I think this was the worst bit of fear I'd ever experienced...I think it still might be actually.
I remember my mum coming to the back of the bus and asking me if I was going to just sit there until I became one with the seat. Thankfully, that was the only time I ever shit my pants in school or in public. I can't say the same for weeing myself in public, especially after all the drunken nights out the lads and I have had. She eyeballed me. "You're acting funny, what's the matter with you?" "Well, my tummy hurt all day and well..." Her eyes grew wide. "Oh. Well, maybe the school has something in lost property." She went to talk to the teacher and a classmate took her spot. "Coming, Danny?" "No, I have to wait for my mum." "Are you in trouble?" "Yes." (My sarcasm muscle hadn't matured at this point.) It didn't take him more than two minutes to realise what had happened. "You had an accident!" I think that was the first time I felt murderous rage. "Shut up! No, I didn't!" "You did! I'm gonna tell!" Whatever his name was, ran off the bus and informed the rest of the class that I'd crapped my pants. Their laughter was magnified by the coach I think and some of the parents on the trip were trying to hush the kids but it did nothing to lessen the sinking feeling in my stomach. Just when I thought it could get no lower, the teacher came and collected me. "Come on now. Your mum's digging through lost property and I'll help sort you out. These things happen when we're not feeling well."
I got cleaned up and changed, my clothes put into a plastic bag and tossed into the bin, rather than try and wash them. I'd perked up by the time I got into my mum's car. "I think that was a good trip. Can we go again?" She told me "yes" but it was those lies that parents tell their children so they'll shut up and stop nagging about it. I felt relief driving away from the school and my classmates. Thankfully, since it was the end of the school year it only was on their minds for about a week or two? Then I transferred to a Catholic school and never saw any of those jerk-offs again.
I don't know why I thought this blog would be a good idea or a funny thing to post. I started writing it right after Christmas and had been putting it off for several reasons. 1. I was so depressed I couldn't focus and finish this piece and then 2. I went on a holiday/tour and got caught up writing those blogs. Don't worry the rest of those will be up as the week rolls by as well as new content.
Following the tour, my stomach started to gurgle again. I was hoping that it was just me being sort of hungry or being anxious at having to spend so much time with kids I didn't know all that well. Then lightening pain shot through my stomach and I had to run to the toilets. I emptied my guts into the toilet hoping that this would be the only time I'd need to do this. I slipped back into the group like a ghost and followed my group mates to the canteen. 'This is the end of this.' I remember thinking to myself as I sat there drinking my juice, not daring to add any fuel to the fire. Things settled down and I went off to make candle hands with my classmates.
There were different vats of coloured wax we could dip out fingers and hands in, as many layers as we wanted, and a bucket of cold water to dunk out hands in afterwards. As I stood there my hands submerged in wax, the familiar tummy pain spread through my lower abdomen. Panic began to flood me as did the thought of 'What if I crap my pants here with my hands covered in wax?' I hurriedly freed my hands from the waxy prison with the help of an employee and scrambled away. I remember her calling me, telling me that I needed to collect my wax hands and I told her I'd be back I had to do something.
I barely made it. Sat there I was wondering why this was happening to me. Why couldn't this happen on a day or normal classes, not a trip day? If I'd known the word 'motherfucker' at the time, I'd probably have used it. ((That word came a little bit later.)) I heard the teacher telling my classmates to use the toilets before we left. My mother came in and found me and asked what I was doing. I told her that I was just doing what I was told and that my rainbow wax hands were on the table there and she could get them if she wanted. I prayed that I could make it back to the school without incident. I was terrified that something was going to let loose and that I'd never be able to live it down.
I finished up, collected my things and made my way to the coach. I don't remember my mum sitting with me. I think she was up in the front of the coach with the other parents. The journey back to school, I don't remember at all except for tummy rumblings and the worry that I'd have an accident. I think all that worry did more harm than good, you know how anxiety can disrupt digestion. (God, how I know that now.)
The streets became familiar. We're almost there. 10 minutes away. I'm home free! Nothing's going to-Oh, Christ. It hit me right there, like a cruel bold of lightning from above. I think that was the first moment when I started doubting the existence of God. I didn't want to get off the coach. I think most of you would feel that same level of 'I'm really fucked now' that I did, sitting there, my pants saturated. We pulled into the school car park and everyone was getting up but I didn't dare move. I think this was the worst bit of fear I'd ever experienced...I think it still might be actually.
I remember my mum coming to the back of the bus and asking me if I was going to just sit there until I became one with the seat. Thankfully, that was the only time I ever shit my pants in school or in public. I can't say the same for weeing myself in public, especially after all the drunken nights out the lads and I have had. She eyeballed me. "You're acting funny, what's the matter with you?" "Well, my tummy hurt all day and well..." Her eyes grew wide. "Oh. Well, maybe the school has something in lost property." She went to talk to the teacher and a classmate took her spot. "Coming, Danny?" "No, I have to wait for my mum." "Are you in trouble?" "Yes." (My sarcasm muscle hadn't matured at this point.) It didn't take him more than two minutes to realise what had happened. "You had an accident!" I think that was the first time I felt murderous rage. "Shut up! No, I didn't!" "You did! I'm gonna tell!" Whatever his name was, ran off the bus and informed the rest of the class that I'd crapped my pants. Their laughter was magnified by the coach I think and some of the parents on the trip were trying to hush the kids but it did nothing to lessen the sinking feeling in my stomach. Just when I thought it could get no lower, the teacher came and collected me. "Come on now. Your mum's digging through lost property and I'll help sort you out. These things happen when we're not feeling well."
I got cleaned up and changed, my clothes put into a plastic bag and tossed into the bin, rather than try and wash them. I'd perked up by the time I got into my mum's car. "I think that was a good trip. Can we go again?" She told me "yes" but it was those lies that parents tell their children so they'll shut up and stop nagging about it. I felt relief driving away from the school and my classmates. Thankfully, since it was the end of the school year it only was on their minds for about a week or two? Then I transferred to a Catholic school and never saw any of those jerk-offs again.
I don't know why I thought this blog would be a good idea or a funny thing to post. I started writing it right after Christmas and had been putting it off for several reasons. 1. I was so depressed I couldn't focus and finish this piece and then 2. I went on a holiday/tour and got caught up writing those blogs. Don't worry the rest of those will be up as the week rolls by as well as new content.
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