(from a worker in Indonesia)

After a bad batch of Indonesian food, my three girlfriends and I were footing it back to our hotel. A couple of minutes into the walk, my friend Max started to feel some mild intestinal discomfort. Little did we know, the leisurely stroll back to our hotel would turn into the Green Apple Quick Step.

At first we were running for Max’s life (and dignity) but soon after the urge hit Max, it hit me. I didn’t know what Max was feeling but I was in trouble. No way I was gonna make it. As I looked at the other girls faces it became painfully clear that we had all gotten a bad case of food poisoning.

How could this happen so quickly? One moment we are having perfect evening with close friends in an exotic restaurant then moments later we are fast walking into a freakish night of horror.

I don’t know what they did in that kitchen, but it was now clear that what we ate that night was NOT food. At least not food from this planet. I’m convinced the recipe was concocted in a laboratory in hell by a top team of demonic gut terrorists, with senior level Demons grinning their approval as Hell’s Chief Chemist delivers Beelzebub’s Barbacoa to unwitting customers.

Arriving at the hotel was the greatest challenge of our lives, but with all of the strength that we could muster, we clenched our butt cheeks together knowing that one false move would open the floodgates and unleash the end of days. The Barbarians were at the gate, but we held strong like a band of warrior princesses.

The Receptionist asked for our room numbers. I stared in disbelief. I didn’t know if I could even put two words together in the state I was in. She was so polite and wanted to share niceties, but she had no idea of the strain I was under.

Would the act of speech strain the flimsy and extremely delicate truce I had negotiated between my bowels and the tempest that raged within? She finally took the hint and gave us our keys. I shuffled off whispering “Please God. Please God, Please God” under my breath.

As we entered the tiny elevator everyone was silent dedicating every ounce of mental focus to staving off the inevitable deluge. Breaking the silence we heard what sounded like fire crackers going off in someones pants. As we investigated the noise, my friend just hung her head in shame.

When the rest of our bodies heard the sound of sweet relief they decided to follow suit. That one little shart set off a chain reaction that made time stand still. The doors to the elevator opened and it was a mad dash to our hotel rooms. Half way there we realized that there were four of us and only two toilets.

It was too late anyway. All four of us had already received our dishonorable discharge. The shame continued as we waited our turn, with explosive diarrhea, and vomiting happening all around us.

When the incident was finally over, I slowly opened my eyes to survey the devastation and in that instant, if I had had a sharp object, I probably would have gouged my eyes out in revulsion. 
Not my favorite moment of my time in Indonesia, but definitely one of the most memorable.

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