Oh shit… Literally. Ok, just hold it in, hold it in. Can the professor see my face?
I can’t keep a normal face in times like these. I can’t let one out. What would happen
if I did?

Option 1: Fart. You won’t know how loud or how smelly it will be until it’s out.
Could be an SBD, but it could also be noisy.
Option 2: Hold it, keep making your “holding it” face (slightly scrunched nose and
mouth, head tilted to the side that you’re leaning your ass to in order to properly
clench). Concentrate solely on the muscle movements to control yourself.

If you chose Option 1: The crowd sniffs. Disgust. They heard nothing, yet they
suspect the chubby, unkempt classmate in front of you. Score! However, you still
have to shit.

If you chose Option 2: A tiny squeak, and nothing more. Easily could’ve been a
chair. Nobody notices, typical Penn overachievers furiously taking notes about the
bell curve. Still have to shit.

You can’t hold it in much longer. The problem is, you are a freshman and
don’t know where any of the bathrooms are. If only you were back at high school!
Gone are the days you could take comfort in your favorite stall, the one that
says, “Smile, your beautiful.” Then you could chuckle quietly to yourself at the bad
grammar, blocking out the blasts of that ice cream you knew you shouldn’t have
had. But this is a 150 person lecture. No friends. No uplifting bathroom graffiti. You
don’t even know where the bathrooms are. You remember the professor on the first
day of class: “Hey, where are you going? Am I not entertaining enough?” Awkward,
because everyone knows the only reason you leave lecture without your personal
effects is to personally affect the porcelain throne. Everyone would know you’re
shitting. Especially that cute guy in the fifth row. I don’t want him to know I shit!
Girls don’t shit! All boys think that!

Option 1: Walk slowly, but don’t dally, clench your ass and hope nobody notices.
You are wearing leggings.
Option 2: Hold it in bitch, you have the willpower.

If you chose Option 1: The ass-clenching fails. An unmistakable pop pierces the
silence and your confidence. Five unsuccessful minutes of searching and you ask
the woman at the desk upstairs. You missed the bathroom. Twice. Maybe your acceptance letter should be rescinded. Quickly let it all out then trudge back to
class, cheeks bright red . Your face is flushed too. After class, Speedy Gonzalez it out
of there and Skype with your best friend from high school about the experience.
Reminisce about the good old days when you could take a dump with inspirational
graffiti. Decide to write your own (grammatically correct, after all, this is not Penn
State) inspirational graffiti: “Smile, you’re beautiful. Even when you’re shitting.”

If you chose Option 2: Good job soldier, mission accomplished. Combine your
shoving skills learned from aggressive Germans and city walking to beat your
classmates out of the hall, do your now almost-perfected ass-clenching speed walk
to the Quad (since you don’t know where the bathrooms are in any other buildings), get to your hall, fling the bathroom door open (thank goodness there’s
duct tape on the lock), open the stall door, check to see if anyone’s there, then let
it all out. Go back to your room, let out a sigh of relief, and then watch an episode
of “30 Rock” while eating a Cup of Noodles. Appreciate the fact that Liz Lemon
would get a kick out of what just happened. Be simultaneously happy and sad that
you are not Liz Lemon.