This story was originally told in episode #25 of the comedy podcast
‘Welcome To Patchwork’ by co-host Christian.
A few Saturdays ago, I had one of the worst nights of my life. Now, I take the majority of the blame for why this night turned so sour but I've also wondered, could some of this horror have been avoided. Could I find a way to also blame my co-hosts, Josh and Dion? Let me explain.
Before I delve deep into this story, let me give everyone some information which will be important for understanding what I'm about to say. From my apartment in Brunswick East to Dion's apartment, it's 2.1km. From Dion's apartment to Josh's house, it's 2km. From Josh's house to my apartment, it's 3km.
After a horrendously long week at work and 8 hours of helping my friend move house, my long anticipated Saturday night had arrived. This was no ordinary Saturday night for me. This was the first Saturday night I’d had free for months. I had starred the date and written the event into my calendar ‘Curry, No Hurry’. My plan was to have a selfish Saturday night - get Indian take out, watch hours of David Attenborough's Life and wear the loosest, comfiest clothes I could possibly find.
I know that one can feel guilty when indulging in Indian food and relaxing all night on the couch, so I said to myself, “You know what? I'll go for a quick run and feel really good about myself before the relaxation begins”. So I put on my running gear, put the key under the doormat and took off.
I've now been running for 20 minutes and I'm feeling good. I'm getting really excited to eat some delicious Eggplant Peshwari and Garlic Naan. As I round another street corner, I start to feel some rain drops on my head. The clouds are now looking a little grey and I say to myself, “Hey, 40 minutes is plenty and you also kind of need to do a poo. So let's turn back and deep dive into ‘Curry, No Hurry’”.
I’m approaching the driveway to my apartment and I’m dripping wet. The rain turned from spitting to torrential seconds after I decided to turn around, and I practically swam the majority of the way back home. But, I didn't mind. In fact, add a beautiful soundscape of rain to my night, throw a blanket over my legs - this was going to be better than I could have imagined. I do a light stretch down in the rain and then walk inside.
I approach my apartment, grab the key from beneath the mat and go to unlock the door. The key doesn't turn. Strange. I give it another go thinking maybe my wet fingers have something to do with it. Nothing. No movement. I looked at the key. I somehow pulled the wrong one off my keychain. This never happens.
A sudden feeling of dread washed over my body. I wasn't only locked out of my apartment, but I had no phone, no wallet, I was dripping wet and starting to really need to go to the toilet.
I've now been pacing outside my apartment for 5 minutes thinking of what I should do next - whilst also trying to distract my mind from my burgeoning bowels. Intermittently I would knock on the door thinking, “Well maybe my housemate is in the toilet and can't hear me”.
I'm manic. Then, a genius idea. It's Saturday night, 100% Dion will be home. I'll just continue running for another 2km until I get to Dion's apartment. I'll poo there, he'll let me borrow his phone to Facebook message my housemate who will come home, unlock the door and join me for ‘Curry, No Hurry’. There's still plenty of time. I put on a brave face, jog downstairs and head out the door.
The rain has been periodically starting and stopping. I'm glad it's raining though - my sweat has now become indistinguishable from the wetness caused by rain. I'm not glad that it's so dark though. Running in the dark of night is never a fun activity and it certainly doesn't belong on the ‘Curry, No Hurry’ agenda.
As I turn into Dion's street I think to myself, “I'll know whether he's home pretty much immediately because I'll be able to see his car in the driveway”. I edge closer. HUZZAH! Dion's Subaru is sitting parked outside his apartment. I've never been so relieved to see such a filthy automobile. Triumphantly, I start relaxing my bowels in anticipation for a quick greeting and then a sprint to the bathroom. I jog up Dion's stairs, knock on the door and wait.
Dion's not home. Nobody is home. Why is his car here if he's not home? Where is he? Should I wait a little longer? What if he's in his bedroom with headphones on? Should I knock louder? The timed lights in his stairwell turn off. It's very dark outside and I'm now facing another locked door, dripping wet, desperate to find a toilet. I already know what my next move is, but it involves a lot more running and a whole heap more clenching. I'm running to Josh's house.
It’s now 1 hour and 15 minutes into my little adventure and ‘Curry, No Hurry’ is quickly becoming less and less likely. I can now barely run because the pressure on my bowels is causing me to wince in pain with every stride. My mind is racing. What happens if Josh isn't home? Surely Josh will be home. A rainy Saturday night is a perfect night to play video games. I had myself convinced - Josh Porter is home. He will save my night. “Thank you Josh,” I whispered to myself in anticipation, “you're a good man”.
As I waddle down Josh's street I realise that the darkness of night has well and truly set in. I’m a mess - a wet, sweaty, panting mess. To add to the standard running noises I’m making, every step I am also releasing a tiny bit of gas from my bottom. Between my soles hitting the pavement, the whimpers from my mouth and the trumpets from my arse - I've turned into a one man band.
I can now see Josh's front gate. Is that his car? I think so. It's less distinctive than Dion's and I can't quite remember his licence plate. It is his car. This is brilliant. I'm saved. I open Josh's front gate, walk past his front garden and ring his doorbell. I don't care if any of his three housemates are sleeping. Wake up. Come and help me. I wait all of 15 seconds before I'm banging on the door. How long does it take someone to answer the door in a house with four people living in it? Hurry up Josh! Don’t you know you're tempting fate here?
There is a steady flow of tears from my eyes as the pain I'm feeling reaches its zenith. Nobody has answered the door and I am facing a bigger problem than being locked out of my house. I can't form a single coherent thought. I'm scattered. I turn to face Josh's front garden and whimpering like a little boy, I pull my pants down…