Rodrigo had a job interview that day. He was so nervous that he woke up three hours before his alarm went off and decided to get completely ready. He put on his best black suit, printed his resume on the finest paper he could afford, and ate very little, as he was afraid of getting an upset stomach right before his interview. However, despite having taken every precaution, he wasn’t entirely at ease. Even so, he tried hard to psych himself up and keep fear and anxiety from consuming him. It was then, with quite a bit of uncertainty, that he embarked on his journey toward a decent salaried job with better working conditions.
Halfway through the bus ride, a sharp pain in his abdomen flared up and settled permanently in the pit of his stomach. It was an annoying heaviness, but nothing out of the ordinary. Rodrigo was aware that his sudden discomfort was a result of his anxiety. It is well known that the brain and the gastrointestinal tract are connected through a massive network of nerves, so sometimes the brain is to blame for upsetting our intestines. Unfortunately, no matter how hard Rodrigo tried to calm down, nothing worked, and in fact, the opposite happened: the pain in his stomach intensified, and thick beads of sweat began to form on his temples, underarms, back, and between his legs.
Rodrigo arrived at the company’s offices ten minutes early and took the opportunity to go to the front desk and ask about his interview. The receptionist told him that his interviewer was just about to come out of a meeting and that the interview would take place any minute. Rodrigo headed to the waiting area and sank into a cold leather armchair. He felt his heart racing and closed his eyes, seeking comfort in the darkness. In those moments of calm, he told himself, “Breathe, calm down, you have to control yourself. You’re a grown-ass man now; you can do this.”
Unfortunately, his intrusive thoughts crept in and added fuel to the fire. Catastrophic scenarios of failing the interview quickly flashed through his mind, further undermining Rodrigo’s mental stability. The stomach pain grew even stronger; Rodrigo could swear that stomach acid was burning a hole through his belly, which triggered the storm and caused him to let out a deep, long growl, as if an old engine were starting up inside him. Worried, Rodrigo placed a hand on his swollen, twisted stomach, only to feel his sphincter open without his permission and let a bubbling fart slip between his buttocks, with that acrid, sulfuric smell that heralded disaster.
The fart escaped with a loud pop and vibrated against the leather. Rodrigo looked up to see if anyone was nearby; luckily, there was only the guy at the front desk, who was so far away that he couldn’t hear or smell a thing. Rodrigo realized that the fart was a warning and decided not to push his luck. He stood up and immediately felt the cold from the window hit his damp butt; he was soaked in sweat. He checked the condition of the chair and was embarrassed to have left such a visible sweat stain; however, there was no time to waste, and he decided to look for a bathroom. He retraced his steps back to the front desk and struck up another conversation with the guy at the front desk.
“Excuse me… Where’s the restroom?” he asked in a tense voice, as calm as he could manage.
The guy at the front desk pointed down the hall. Rodrigo continued on his way cautiously; one hand pressed against his stomach. The pain was already becoming unbearable, and there was a risk it could explode at any moment. When he reached the restroom, he opened the door, but before he could step inside, a firm voice stopped him.
“Rodrigo Martínez, right? I’m Attorney Vargas, your interviewer—just in time… for the interview.”
Rodrigo turned around, unable to believe his bad luck. Vargas was a man in his mid-forties, wearing a dark gray suit and sporting an unfriendly expression, though he also seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Rodrigo noticed a slight twitch in his face.
“You see, I have an… urgent matter to attend to. I’d rather not go into details, but I’m afraid this is the first time I’ve found myself in the position of having to deal with such a predicament at the same time as an interview. Normally I would have waited until the interview was over, but… I’ll be honest with you, right now I’m the victim of an unfortunate cup of coffee,” said Vargas, accompanying the last sentence with a subtle grimace of pain and briefly resting his hand on his stomach with a touch of embarrassment.
Rodrigo swallowed hard and masked his anger with indifference; he began to wonder if Vargas had noticed something was wrong—since, he feel that he was about to give birth. However, the more he looked into Vargas’s eyes, the more he sensed his detachment, as he didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything or anyone. It was then that Rodrigo remembered that someone had spoken to him and was waiting for his response.
“Yeah, me too… I was just about to—”
Vargas cut him off and kept walking until he reached the bathroom door, taking advantage of the fact that Rodrigo had already opened it.
“In that case, you don’t mind if we do the interview inside, do you? Let’s not waste any more time.”
Before Rodrigo could protest, Vargas walked over and tried to establish a relationship—a friendly one, if you will—between the two of them, giving Rodrigo a hard, “friendly” slap on the stomach. Rodrigo winced and lowered his head just as he let out a loud gasp of air, though his mouth wouldn’t be the only place from which air would escape. Rodrigo tried to hold in the fart that Vargas had triggered, but by the time he tried to clench his buttocks and stop the gas from passing between his cheeks, he ended up, so to speak, pushing for it to escape with even more force. A prolonged fart rumbled from Rodrigo’s ass; he felt heat in his boxers as if it were steam and felt his pants shake a little. Rodrigo could do nothing but blush as he heard the humiliating “prrrt!” and felt the smell spread like a toxic cloud.
Vargas wrinkled his nose slightly, but kept his composure before turning toward Rodrigo. Apparently, he hadn’t realized that Rodrigo was the source of the stench that was now flooding his nostrils. He cleared his throat and raised his voice to make sure he was heard.
“As I was saying… Martínez. We’re grown men and professionals; we can talk in the restroom without letting ourselves get carried away by vulgarities like letting out loud farts or making the place smell even worse. I’ll say this once. I hate it when people have… suffer from stomach incontinence and allow embarrassing noises and smells to proliferate; it’s unpleasant and shows a serious lack of control and respect, you know?
Rodrigo had no choice but to nod, apologize, and say it wouldn’t happen again, even though he knew full well he was about to make a monumental mess of things; his poor sphincter was holding onto shit—explosive, liquid, noisy shit. If he didn’t use the bathroom now, he’d shit his suit pants, but if he took a shit right next to his interviewer, he’d make a complete fool of himself. Rodrigo had no choice but to sacrifice his dignity in exchange for returning home with a clean ass and his boxers and pants intact (albeit smelly and sweaty). Rodrigo gestured politely for Vargas to enter his cubicle first, and he followed him in.
Both men entered their cramped stalls, closed the doors, and for a moment the only sound in the bathroom was the sound of their belts unfastening almost in unison. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Rodrigo was doing everything with greater urgency and desperation, you wouldn’t have heard Vargas sit down on the toilet gently and hesitantly, but you certainly heard it when Rodrigo plopped down hard and the toilet seat shook violently.
Rodrigo was still sweating and could see the damage to his clothes; the areas around his neck, back, and armpits were soaked in sweat, as were his boxers, which were darker in color where his butt and sweaty balls pressed against them. Rodrigo pressed his legs together, clenched his anus, closed his eyes, and leaned forward; this allowed him to concentrate enough to prevent the torrent of shit from shooting out, and instead a silent fart escaped from within him, hsssssss.
The sound was interrupted by a plop coming from the stall next door; it was Vargas. Judging by the sound, it was clear that Vargas had passed a rather large and heavy turd. The strange thing was that he didn’t make a sound—no fart, no rumbling in his stomach. Vargas didn’t even groan to indicate he’d strained to pass it. Nothing, as if the turd had simply slid out effortlessly the moment he sat down. That could only mean the turd had already been peeking out of Vargas for a while. The question is, since when?
Vargas coughed hard to try to save himself, but the damage was already done. Just to divert attention, Vargas reached his hand under Rodrigo’s cubicle demanding his resume; that way he could prevent Rodrigo from speculating about his stomach and, incidentally, wipe his ass, since he didn’t have any toilet paper in his cubicle.
“Excellent, thank you.” He picked up a sheet of paper, skimmed it, and calmly began wiping his ass with it. It really is an impressive résumé. How qualified are you for the job?
Rodrigo tried to answer, but a wet fart interrupted him before he could even open his mouth; he fell silent for a second, red as a tomato, before continuing.
“This is the job I’ve been preparing for my whole life.” A small stream of diarrhea spurted from his anus and interrupted him again. “I can’t see myself anywhere else.”
Vargas gave a positive response while carefully wiping himself with another page of the resume; the rough, uncomfortable texture of the paper was hurting him. Another fart escaped from Rodrigo’s butt, amplified by the ceramic of the toilet; however, the fart didn’t sound like a fart, but rather like a burp—a very loud one, but so involuntary and unnatural that Vargas genuinely worried.
“Are you feeling okay? You seem a little… distracted.”
“Yeah, I feel…” “Great!” said Rodrigo in the most fake, happy voice you can imagine, just as two more farts escaped him, one almost right after the other.
The interview continued; this time, Vargas asked him to talk about himself and how he saw his future at the company. Rodrigo realized he was about to let more shit out, so he answered while synchronizing his voice with the chunks of shit coming out of his hole and splattering against the toilet to mask the sounds.
Plop Plop Plop Plop
“I THINK that… it MUST be… if it’s POSSIBLE, in a HIGHER position…”
Each answer was accompanied by more wet farts, streams of liquid shit splashing into the water, and an increasingly nauseating smell, like rotten eggs mixed with decaying meat. Vargas was so lost in his own world that he didn’t notice—until the sewer-like stench of the place started to make him feel sick, so he decided to wrap up the interview. This time he asked why he had left his previous job, and before answering, Rodrigo realized that raising his voice wouldn’t be enough if he wanted to keep the job. So he began clapping to drown out the next plops.
Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap
Plop Plop Plop Plop
“Poor working conditions… an unprofessional work environment and… imminent risk of dismissal…”
“Martínez, are you clapping? Why?”
Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap
Plop Plop Plop Plop Plop
“I just feel… full of energy and optimistic… about the future,” he lied with desperate anguish.
Vargas no longer wanted to continue with the interview; every time he opened his mouth, that smell would settle inside him and was making him genuinely nauseous. He concluded that Rodrigo’s behavior was due to the fact that he had condemned both him and himself to this fecal hell. With both men indisposed and their sphincters relaxed, it would be impossible to express themselves in any way other than peculiar, so he made one last comment, letting Rodrigo know they would call him soon, and refused to utter another word. Seriously, the smell was unbearable.
Rodrigo heard his stomach growl and knew the worst was about to come, since he’d been pooping intermittently throughout the entire interview and hadn’t fully emptied himself. He desperately tried to keep the conversation going to continue covering up his bowel movements, but Vargas wouldn’t say another word. That’s when Rodrigo focused all his strength on holding it in; he really tried. He clenched with all his might. But in the end, his nerves betrayed him. His stomach let out one last guttural roar, and for the final time, his anal sphincter opened involuntarily; the pent-up diarrhea exploded in a violent, noisy, and uncontrollable torrent. Streams of liquid, explosive farts, and solid chunks falling with loud splatters. Rodrigo thought it would have been more dignified to starve to death; as for the smell… there’s nothing more to be said about the smell that hasn’t already been said.
Vargas jumped to his feet and stormed out of the stall, barely pulling up his pants in disgust. For better or worse, no one got to see his poorly wiped butt with Rodrigo’s resume on it. He made his way to the bathroom exit and, with his last breath, shouted, “Disgusting!” “Just so you know, you’re hired, but if I ever find out again that you’re suffering from gastroenteritis and subject me to your stinking ass again, I’ll be the one to wipe it myself—is that clear?”
Despite ending the sentence with a question, he didn’t wait for Rodrigo to answer and stormed out of the bathroom without washing his hands. Rodrigo didn’t understand why Vargas would “offer” to wipe his ass; however, he felt the emptiness in his stomach and exhaled in relief; the worst was over, now he just had to act normal and pretend he hadn’t clogged the toilet with his diarrhea, or left it smelling like a garbage dump. What would have happened if he’d managed to stop Vargas from intercepting him before he entered the bathroom?
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