Piss farting around

Photo credit Jas Min

If, upon my death, I am shown some sort of life review, I suspect there will be an inordinate number of scenes of me on the toilet. I further suspect that the story that follows will be one of those scenes…

It was the first week of year eleven, (okay, technically, it was the second week as I’d missed the entire first week on account of being on holiday with my family, but who’s counting?). Since the prissy private school I’d been attending for the preceding years had ‘suggested’ I continue my academic endeavors elsewhere, I was beginning year eleven at a new school. A school which, being the good sports that they were, had graciously opened themselves up to all the wayward youths who’d already been expelled from nearby high schools, and who probably should’ve just bucked-up and got a job; but instead, had chosen, as my father would later put it, “To piss fart around for another two years doing sweet fuck all.”

Excited by the prospect of piss farting around in a new locale, my hopes were high as I strolled through the gates on my first day. Pretty quickly, however, my optimism began to fade when I ran into a slight hiccup: I didn’t know anyone. Worse still, having arrived a week late I’d missed the chance to form the initial bonds new students make during those riveting orientation events that occur during the first week. And while I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at this over the years, (I haven’t) the truth is: I am terribly shy. Especially around new people. And especially as an angsty 16-year-old. Hell, I was so wrapped up in my own myopic-self-consciousness back then, that even if I could muster up the courage to talk to someone, my brain and my tongue would often betray my efforts, choosing instead to malfunction under the pressure. I still harbor a rather demoralizing memory of walking up to someone on that first day, and in a way that probably gave the impression I was a little slow, I said to the poor bastard, “Hey, ahh, so, umm, do you like stuff?” To which he looked at me quizzically and said, in a rather mocking tone, “Nah bro, I don’t like nuffin.”

With debacles like that following me around like an offensive cologne, my first few days were not fun. Recess and lunch were the worst, as there is something particularly painful about walking around alone the whole time like a fucking weirdo. Unwilling to suffer through more of the same, by the third day I had retreated to what I’d always thought of as a safe space: the toilet. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit that in a pathetic attempt to escape the soul-crushing awkwardness of being a social pariah, I had resorted to hiding out in the toilets during the breaks.

It was there, in the last cubicle of the boy’s toilets, where I met my fate. . .

Eating my ham and cheese sandwich in the stall while kids pissed and farted all around me, I found myself perusing the graffiti on the cubicle walls. Jimmy’s mum sucks cock, read one (assumedly unsubstantiated) bit of scrawl. Mr Jones is a cunt, read another (I can attest to the truth of that one). Fuck this school, read a third. Absentmindedly reading the rest of the nonsense scribbled on those walls by kids too young to even understand the gravity of what they were writing, I was blissfully unaware that it’s descent had already begun.

Eclipsing the fluorescent light hanging above the cubicle, it’s gargantuan form announced itself with the might of a celestial body. Dangling at the end of it’s silvery vine it’s bony feelers reached out for the tip of my nose. Leaping to the other end of the stall, my back was pressed against the cold tiles before the rest of my ham and cheese sandwich had even hit the piss-stained floor. As I pushed into the back wall with everything I had, my eyes were pulled to meet it’s own. Hypnotized by the dark murky orbs that sat atop it’s bulbous head; it’s hollow gaze pierced my soul. Where had it come from? How had I not seen it earlier? And how in God’s name had it grown so fucking big? Dwarfing my head, and the same colour as the shit that had just stained my pants, that colossal creature had materialized out of nowhere like a shape-shifting apparition.

Being Australian, I was all too familiar with this species of arachnid: it was a Huntsman. And while we’re on the topic–no! Just because I’m Australian that does not make me some animal-taming nutcase. In fact, despite the stereotypes, most Australian’s are not the crocodile-wrangling, shark-punching, dingo-feeding maniacs we’re made out to be. We don’t ride kangaroos to work. We don’t wrestle wombats for fun. We don’t shoo snakes away with our bare feet as we stumble home from the pub. And most of us, especially me, are none too thrilled when spiders the size of dinner plates descend from the ceiling and accost us while we’re eating our lunch.

Yes, that’s what Huntsman’s really look like - terrifying, I know!

Pinned against the wall by a healthy respect for the sanctity of that monster’s personal space, a tremor tore through me as it’s gangly limbs wriggled like a worm about to be dissected by an 11^th grade biology student. Hours passed in a matter of seconds as the two of us faced off. Flaring it’s fangs in a unequivocal display of dominance, I cowered in the face of it’s supremacy. Given that Huntsman’s are known to jump, I knew that at any moment it might leap onto my face and try to devour me whole. Not ready to fight a spider that looked like it could choke-out a wombat I decided to remain frozen in place like the wuss I am. That is, until I heard the bell. I had to get to class.

But how?

Still floating ominously in the empty space between me and the door, that spider had me trapped. With no room to move, and no means of overcoming my terror, I was at it’s mercy. But I had to get to English. And the last thing I wanted to do was rock up late and have the whole class look at me when I walked in–I’d already suffered enough social discomfort for one week. Brainstorming ways of escape, I attempted to bargain with the beast. Communicating with it telepathically, I conveyed my intent: C’mon bro, just climb back up your web and let me pass. If you do that, I promise I’ll bring you a kangaroo carcass to devour. Looking at me with a wizard-like glint in it’s eye, I could’ve swore I heard it utter the phrase, “You shall not pass!” Perplexed by how this spider knew Lord of the Ring’s references, I was left reeling by the seemingly supernatural omnipotence of the entity before me.

With the sounds of footsteps and laughter floating into the toilets as students hurried to their respective classes, I knew that if I was going to make a move, I had to do it now.

“Okay Michael, you can do this, it’s just a spider, just run past it and don’t look back.” I said, out loud in a dismal attempt to psych myself up.

“Alright here we go; on three.”

Suring up my footing, I fixed my eyes on the latch in the middle of the door.

“One.”

Taking a deep breath, I put my hands against the wall as I prepared to charge forward.

“Two.”

With my heart banging against its ivory cell like an inmate protesting their innocence, I glanced up at that ghastly figure one last time as it cracked it’s knuckles in preparation for our inevitable show down.

“Three. . .”

Off in the distance a kookaburra cackled into the midday sky, no doubt laughing at my total lack of courage. I hadn’t moved an inch. And what’s truly pitiful about that is: I knew I wouldn’t. I may have faced many fears atop my skateboard, but there, in that stinking cubicle, staring down that damn bug–I was as cowardly as they come. That realization pissed me off. And so, spurred on by my momentary frustration–I went for it. Hugging the side wall, I hurried past that spider, opened the latch, rushed through the door, and let out an audible sigh of relief as I reached my freedom.

Despite my bravery, I still ended up getting to class late. A barrage of snickering young faces greeting me as I arrived. Scolded by the teacher for my tardiness, I nodded apologetically before slinking to the only seat left in the room. But it wasn’t all bad. In fact, in some inexplicable way, I have a feeling that spider did me a favour. Because as it turned out, the guy I sat next to–did like stuff. Even some of the same stuff as me.

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