p.o.s. car

Another funny story---
in October 1999, one of my good friends from high school, Danie, was having a Halloween party down in Mankato, where she went to college. Already, you should be thinking to yourself, "Yuck!" because Mankato is quite skanky. Nevertheless, I told her that I would be there with bells on. I invited our mutual friend Matt to come along, since he had nothing better to do (which implies I had nothing better to do!). The plan was that I'd pick him up at the MOA, where he was working at Old Navy--his career goal at the time, since he had been kicked out of the U--and I would drive us down to the land of milk and honey that is Mankato. SO...it's about 8p and I pick up the dude at MOA and we hit the road.

We're driving along, making small talk, etc. etc., and he becomes quieter throughout the trip, pretty much falling silent once we hit LeSeuer. I think nothing of it--I'm not one to make conversation for the sake of making conversation, plus it was late at night and he had been working all day, so I figured he was all tuckered out. A short time after that, we arrive in Mankato (my first time there!) and I pulled into the parking lot at the Happy Chef, take Matt's cell phone, and call Danie so she can come meet us and direct us to her apartment in the sticks. Matt went inside to use the little boy's room.

While I'm on the phone and doing my hair (I went as Mary from "There's Something About Mary"--I was spraying my bangs straight up), I said to Danie, "This town smells like shit!" I had the window open this whole time, since I was using enough hairspray to drown a small dog. We chat a little longer, and finally hang up and I roll up the window. Still no sign of Matt. I then started to think to myself, It sort of smells in here, too! I ran all the logical situations through my brain--maybe I stepped in dog poop, so I checked the bottoms of my shoes, the carpeting in the driver and passenger seat, the floors of the back seats--nothing. The smell of manure doesn't permeate to that extent, so now I'm worried. I then have a look over at the passenger seat, and what do I see? Why, there's a dark, wet-looking blob on my upholstery! With a quizzical look on my face, I lean over to investigate [read: smell] and immediately sit upright and start coughing. I couldn't believe it--Matthew had pooped his pants in my car!!!!!! There have been few times in my life where I have been completely speechless, and this was one of them. He finally came out the car a few minutes later...with his sweatshirt tied around his waist. Now, the dipshit (no pun intended), didn't pack an overnight bag, so he was wearing these stinky drawers all night long. I didn't know what to say to him, I was so gobsmacked.

We get to the party and I ran over to another mutual friend, Jenny, and I sort of half-laugh, half-cry at her, "I think Matt pooped in my car!!!" She gets this important look on her face and says, "I'll go find out!" A couple of minutes later, she comes back with the verdict: "Yep, he smells like shit!" Matt spent the first couple of hours at the party in the bathroom, emerging for a couple of minutes at a time when someone else needed to use the toilet, or when he needed a refill. But after a while, he was drunk and stopped caring about having stinky drawers and started caring about making awkward passes at the guys there (Matt was closet gay at the time). Throughout the night, Jenny and I tried to rationalize how this happened:

Erica: maybe it just leaked right out his a-hole!
Jenny: maybe he had some of those potato chips that go right through you!
Erica: why wouldn't he just say something like, "I've gotta puke," or, "I'm gonna be sick!" and make me pull over? He didn't have to say, "I've gotta shit!"
Jenny: why wouldn't he bring something to change in to?
Erica: isn't there a 24-hr Walmart or something like that in this urine soaked hell hole of a town?

Needless to say, our questions were never answered. We all fell asleep, with Matt sleeping i the corner, still in his poopy pants, wearing a silver glittery wig that he stole from someone, and everyone else crowded on the other side of the room.

The next morning, we wake up and head home. Unfortunately for us, it was Daylight Savings Time the night before, which meant that the sun had been baking this brown batter into my car seat for an extra hour. I didn't think to crack a window the night before, so when I opened up my door, I was hit by a wave of poo-poo fumes. Matthew, either being really dumb or really stupid (a little from column A, a little from column B), said nothing. We drove in silence to Subway and had subs for breakfast. I opted for the meatball sub, and the only reason I remember this is because Matt said to me, "That smells like shit." I was still in my mute stage from being totally apalled at him laying one down in my passenger seat that I didn't say anything back to him. Now that I am older and more mature [read: quicker with the insults], I would have had something to say back. We drive home in silence, because the silent shitter has fallen asleep in my passenger seat, bringing everything full circle: sleeping in his poopy pants in the poopy seat that he created.

After I dropped him off, I went to the gym, and on my way to leave, my car battery died. Maybe it just gave up due to the carbon monoxide poisoning that I'm sure was occuring in my car, but it was probably just a dead battery. So I had to have some guy give me a jump and drive Hershel (my Dodge Neon) home. I decided that making a dent on the poo-poo clean up was more important than dealing with the car battery, so I took every chemical I could find in my parents' garage and dumped it on the front seat and started scrubbing. I made pretty good progress--I'm sure the chemicals did something to the seat frame, but I was not going to be branded as having a stinky, shitty car!--when the 'rents came home from wherever they were, visiting grandma or something. My mom didn't say anything, but my dad was over talking to the neighbor and said, "What happened, did someone puke?" I looked up and said, "I wish. Matt took a crap in my car!" I don't think dad was expecting to hear that, because he fell silent.

Matt didn't call me to hang out after that day until about 2 years later. I certainly wasn't going to call him, because I was still in shock! In December of that year, I ran into a former classmate of ours who knows everyone involved in the story while I was at Rainbow buying stuff to make Christmas cookies, and he comes up to me and says, "So I heard about shitty britches." It took me about 30 seconds to register what he said, then I looked up at him and exclaimed, "Oh, you've heard about that, too???" Good stories are hard to keep down in the AV town, no doubt.