|
The bathrooms in the student center of Northeastern
University are dimly lit and well traveled. Both are obstacles
in recording the auspicious event with my disposable flash camera.
With the flash on people will wonder what the hell I am taking
pictures of in a public bathroom. They'll also wonder why I am
giggling to myself. With no flash I wont get a good picture.
Maybe they'll think that I am taking pictures of them trying
to take a dump in the next stall, and some huge angry football
player jock guy will storm out with his pants still down around
his ankles and smash down my door. Even without the flash, the
click and subsequent winding of the film seems to be a deafening
roar echoing off the hard cold walls.
In the dim light of the bathroom on this the first action in
Operation Poopy Pants the soiled underwear didn't look real.
A week before on a night that has infamously become known as
'First Poop' Ed, Ivan and I were all pretty thoroughly trashed
when I brought up the used underwear I had purchased from the
thrift store and the bar of chocolate in the refrigerator.
Operation Poopy Pants had been on the shelf for too long. Ed
grabbed the chocolate and warmed it up on our heater while Ivan
and I pulled on the used underwear inside out. As the chocolate
began to flow we dipped our fingers in and I rubbed it into my
ass crack while Ivan, who had put his pair on backwards, rubbed
the melted chocolate all over his crotch.
It looked fantastically realistic.
That is until it dried. It was too flaky and crusty to be the
real thing. At least to my trained eye, and I was going for realism.
I was trying to make a statement. The rest of the pairs had been
manufactured using my second poopy pants technique, rubbing the
bar of chocolate into your ass without melting it. I think it
creates a more realistic stain while Ed thinks it doesn't create
enough of a skidmark.
The goal of 'Operation Poopy Pants: Boston Underseige' was the
complete distribution of existing pairs of poopy pants. This pair
had to go. Then it hit me, soak the underwear in the water for
a few minutes to moisten the chocolate and give it that fresh
from the factory look. So as I sat there listening to people going
in and out of the bathroom I was in my stall dipping the underwear
repeatedly into the bowl. I felt like a pioneer washing my unmentionables
in a barrel on some desolate western prairie. Except there was
a guy not three feet away pinching a loaf.
I carefully placed the skivvies on the back of the toilet half
hanging in the bowl and when the coast was clear took a few pictures.
A perfect facsimile of an authentic, although gratuitous, skidmark.
The rest of the pairs were easier to distribute. Copley Mall,
Prudential Mall, Chili's, Deli Haus, Ihop, Boston University,
Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. I went to drop off a pair at the
Back Bay commuter rail station but they already had some authentic
merchandise on display.
One pair left. I am about to head home with a student of Northeastern
University so I say just stand as lookout while I take some nice
shots in a different bathroom on the campus. "Block anyone who
wants to come in," I say.
"Sure thing, no problem."
I prop the poopy pants up on the handles of the urinal and step
back to set up the shot. As I do the door opens and instead of
my friend a complete stranger comes in. One look at me aiming
my camera and he turns to look at what I am shooting. The poopy
pants on the urinal elicit one of the most disgust filled faces
I have seen in a long time. I stifle my childish chuckle and take
the photo.
Before he could shake it off and notify security I was on the
road planning the next phase of Operation Poopy Pants.
|
