scene 1, act 1: a mid-town medical office,
dr. bosa has just completed a blood test, as he walks towards the door to leave he is abruptly stopped by the jamacian secratary..... the room is filled with 8 other patients waiting.

secratary- "mr. bosa, youre not done yet, you have to provide us with a stool sample" (waving a large wooden stick and small plastic bowl in the air)

bosa- (unabashedly, not realizeing there are 8 people in the room) "i cant, i just went this afternoon"

secratary- (unrelenting now that bosa is clearly embarased having realized the people in the room have been informed of his last bowel movement) " well come here and take this stool sample kit, now, you go into some paper, use this stick and scoop up a sample, enough stool to fill up to this line, you have to bring it in by no later than friday"

bosa- speechless, takes the kit and runs out of office......

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after attempting to avoid the situation, i realized i would soon forget, having to write "stool sample" in your agenda book hardly goes far in advancing one's sense of "all- business-all-the-time" attitude.

stool is a dark and greusome thing, far be it from me to tell piss and fart jokes, i found the entire experience quite an ordeal for an otherwise curious fellow like myself.

stop reading if you are weak of heart or slightly faint, the details that follow may prove disturbing to those that refuse to consider their most basic and vital of daily rituals.

after doing the deed, i secured the testing vial in a plastic zip lock bag, followed by another, then a wrap in newspaper and a final wrapping in a grocery bag. more than secure i thought. (yet the image of that package's deadly payload was like an ember searing my skin.)

i would drop it off at the lab on my way to work,
a 10 minute walk with ones own stool is a harrowing journey my friends. it began in the elavator when i nervously entered with 2 other people. i stared awkwardly at the floor and like a big pot-head, became paranoid wondering if they somehow knew what was inside that bag...

we stopped half way down, only to make room for a lovely woman holding 2 large trays of delicious looking hour'dourves and snacks, "treat day at the office" she joked.
Tomato slices, bocconcini cheese topped with fresh basil and smoked salmon, a snack fit for a king i thought....
but the juxtaposition of my bag and those plates proved too great, all i could think was those poor office people gladly consuming those treats, knowing not of their harrowed journey in a elavator full of poo.
(had you read this story, would you indulge in said treats?)

after what seemed an eternity i exited the lobby, i had to get rid of this package and fast, the lab was only 10 minutes away.
i was a secret agent, bringing vital information to foreign diplomats and could under no circumstances be delayed. as i speed-walked down my street, my mind entertained all the possible scenarios that could bring greater awkwardness to this moment.

what if i was hit by a car and was killed, and the police return all my personal items to my parents, would they open this strange bag and wonder why their son was carrying his own shit in a bag to work? would they wonder if i was actually even going to work, but instead to some clandestine shit party?

would i meet a hot jamcian girl on the weekend, to whom i surely fall in love with and meet her mother who would turn out to be that jamacian secratary who laughed as she waved a stool stick at me?

or would i go on a blind date next week only to meet that nice girl who was in the office at the time of this whole debacle? what if we hit it off, what would we say when people asked "when was the first time you met?"
would we have to make up a story and hold this lie for the rest of our lives, with each instance a smirk and grin exchanged, until one day her best friend, way too drunk would blurt out the truth at a party?

i was dizzy with possibilities, but by this time lucky for me i had reached the lab.
much to my surprise they were closed. they would not open for one more hour.
the thought of spending another hour with a bag of shit sickened me to no end,
i instead left the bag hanging on the door knob to the lab.
lucky for me, a kind old gentleman was waiting, lab papers in hand for them to open,
"ill make sure no one takes it son" ,
ah the elderly, truly the last bastion of kindness in this harsh and foul smelling world.

i walked briskly to the subway, while physically free of my deadly package, its contents so gruesome, left an emotional fingerprint on me, i could not escape the thought of what i had just done, it was as though i still carried the burden of that bag.....

as i write this i am 3 hours removed from my pilgramige, but it is far from over, already having skipped my morning bagel and orange juice for a black coffee and pack of listerene breath strips......

i guess some things in life dont have to be as neurotic as we make them to be, and its not about the messy things inside that bag i had to carry, its about all the things that happen along the way....


bosa- the stuff dreams are made of