I Shit You Not

I. Hate. Public. Transportation. There, I said it. How very politically incorrect of me, especially in the non-green sort of way. This morning, I vowed to never again take the metro in Brussels. Or, at the very least, never sit in one of the seats again.

I would like to take you all back to the blog posting, Mind the Crack, where I posted about the crazy lady that got off the metro in front of me and immediately dropped trou and used the bathroom. Looking back, I guess I should have given her props for at least waiting to until she got off the metro to do her business.

This morning, I picked up the 1B line in the direction of Stockell. Somewhere between Gare Central and Arts-Loi, the guy sitting across from me literally shit his pants. I'm not sure if it was voluntary or otherwise, but, he definitely experienced a bowel movement, whether you attribute it to irritable bowel syndrome, spastic colon, fecal incontinence, anal leakage, or whatever. Trust me, from where I was sitting, I was more concerned with the effect rather than the cause.

Needless to say, those of us in the immediate vicinity of the guy cleared out like cockroaches in a tenement housing when the lights go on. (Okay, so, technically, I've never actually seen cockroaches in tenement housing, or, for that matter, even been inside a tenement house, but, I've got cable and a vivid imagination.) Gagging, I made it to the back of the train, positioning myself as far away from Mr. Crappy Pants as possible. I kept staring at him, trying to find something that would have clued me in that this guy would evacuate his bowels on public transport. But, I had nothing. Not one single thing. From where I was standing, he looked absolutely normal, assuming, of course, you weren't looking at the brown stain on his jeans.