After breakfast, Lolohi drove us to our starting point. This wasn't any regular tourist hike with a paved trail, port-a-potties and gift shops. No, Lolohi was a native. This was a "Step on a rock and hope it doesn't give out" type of hike that would take an hour and a half each way. It was on a lava rock mountain, overlooking the ocean. Did I mention that I'm scared of heights?
About half way through the hike my stomach started hurting. I turned to Susan in a whisper, "Dude, I don't feel well." She ignored me and continued taking pictures. It started getting worse. I thought maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. "Dude, I really don't feel so hot. This shit ain't funny," I whispered again to Susan, so Lolohi would not hear. "We're almost at the destination point. I'll tell him we should turn around instead of sitting there for a while." At this point, my stomach was starting to have a battle with me. When we got to the destination, Susan turned us around like she promised. Lolohi looked confused but followed suit.
I was starting to sweat. I felt like what I imagine hell must feel like. My stomach was flip flopping in ways I've never experienced before. There I was, in beautiful Maui, with a strange guy on top of a lava rock mountain. My stomach was battling me and it was about to take the gold. I started to devise a plan. Maybe I'd tell Lolohi I had to pee, shit behind some rock and use my bathing suit bottom as makeshift toilet paper. That could work. I could go panty-less for the rest of the hike.
"We'll catch up with you. I have to find somewhere to pee," I said to Lolohi. The second he was out of sight I bolted behind a rock. As I began to unbutton my pants, my stomach broke out with with the last hit that would allow it to win this battle. Before I was even able to get my pants off my ass exploded. I got them off and it wouldn't stop. Susan was standing 10 feet away. The look on her face was a mixture of horror and amusement. "I shit my pants. Now what the fuck am I gonna do??" I said from a squatted position. It's a good thing my actual pants were not affected by this incident. "He has your beach towel. I'll get that for you." While she was getting my towel all I could think of was getting my bathing suit off. When Susan came back she found me wearing nothing but a wife beater and socks. Poon exposed. At that point there was no room for embarrassment. She has since given me the name "Muff and Socks" because of that. She started walking towards me to hand me the towel. "You better toss it. I don't think you want the up, close and personal version of this."
I cleaned myself up, left the towel and bathing suit and came out from behind the rock. "We are never to discuss this ever again," Susan said to me. The poor girl was traumatized, and rightfully so. Wouldn't you be if your friend had an explosive shit attack just feet from you? "What are we gonna tell him? I took too long to have only peed," I asked in a panic. She suggested we say I threw up. Of course, he urged me to take a dip in the ocean since that soothes nausea. But I had no drawers on. I couldn't go swimming. I insisted going back to the house so I could just take a cold shower and lie down. After much back and forth, he agreed.
I'm not sure if it was the heights or the sausage, but that the worst experience of my life. I threw out every article of clothing I had on that day, even though everything else was clean besides what was left on the mountain. The pics shown were taken by me prior to feeling like I might die. Susan told her boyfriend and they both laughed at me several times. Since then, they have both shit themselves twice each. If that's not karma, I don't know what is.
While P is on vacation, I wish her a loo wherever she goes, toilet paper whenever she needs, and cooperative bowels. Let us all pray that she is not as unfortunate on her vacation as I was on mine.