In a basement bar with a doberman for a doorman, I learned a life lesson. Never be the first to throw your hat in the ring of secrets.
Five of us lounged around the table. To spark the evening, we decided we’d all share one secret never before uttered to another soul. At that time, I only had a few secrets left that I’d never told anyone, and I knew this group was just weird and welcoming enough to be the apt audience for such a secret. . . . . .
. . . . .“I will go first! When I was a kid I used to poop into a magicians hat.”
The silence was dry. Not at all the sound of guffaws and laughter I was expecting.
“See I was just really curious about my butthole. . . . ”
Silence shoves me into a tunnel of talking, always has and likely always will. I’d be the worst interviewer.
“. . . . .and I wanted to know what it looked like when I pooped.”
I looked down to see ice melting in untouched drinks. It wasn’t that my story was taking a long time, it was that no one was even drinking.
“I thought maybe I could balance on the tub and look over my shoulder to catch my reflection in the mirror. It was genius because the poop would end up on the tiled floor, which would be easy to clean. But I just spent a lot of time falling.”
They’re not even blinking.
“The closet in my room had a full length mirror, and I knew that would be the perfect place to watch myself poop. But shitting on the floor wasn’t an option, even tho blaming it on my stepdad’s dog certainly was.”
Shouldn’t they be laughing? This IS hilarious right?
“For this plan to work, I needed some sort of a poop receptacle. A bowl came to mind but even a dishwasher shouldn’t remove the shame of caked-on shit.”
I’ve gone too far.
“So, I got into my magician’s kit and pulled out the hard plastic hat that was too big for my head anyway. I stood over it, facing away from the mirror, then bent over and looked between my legs to see my tiny butthole give birth to a smooth, unbroken little poo. It was glorious!”
Everyone’s body language loosened, they took deep drinks, and almost in unison everyone declared that was the only secret to be told that night. A glaring breach of contract that I have yet to forget.
As an aside, and even now all these years on, I stand by the glory of watching yourself shit at least once in your life. The anal sphincter really is a marvel, with its tenacious balloon-knot creases and purposeful function. A tight-lipped mouth that abhors revealing secrets.
My crush on Jack Klugman’s Quincy mixed with my corporeal curiosity makes me think I should’ve gone into medicine.
And it’s not a surprise that this artist collective steals my heart with every new installation.
"Shouldn’t they be laughing? This IS hilarious right?"
The worst part of that type of moment is how it then drives you to escalate the story regardless of whether the exaggeration is truthful. Then you end up in some sort of weird oneupmanship on yourself.
I shrieked reading this essay!! Your group were a bunch of weirdos for not reacting, because how could you not laugh at this? Amazing and well-told. Bravo for putting it out there for consumption.