Camp Tales Pt. III--Unfortunate BM's, pt. II

Camp Tales, Pt. III

Irritable Bowl Movements, pt. II--The Ketchup Packet Story.

Yes, yes, I know I already did one on this, but honestly, this is a different story. Sadly, it was back when I was younger, in my early 30's and should have had a gut made of iron. It serves as a cautionary tale for us all, so shut up and listen.

Ketchup Packets were invented in 1955 by two men, Kaplan and Ross. They're pretty nifty, don'tcha think? What's even more nifty, rather than dragging along a big squirt bottle of ketchup when you're camping, why not just bring along a few of these lightweight puppies, right?

It sounded like a good idea at the time.

ONLY that the ketchup packets were in my friend's glove box, and he didn't have any idea how old they were. It went like this:

"Oh, no, dude. We forgot the ketchup. We can't have brats without ketchup."
"No problem, dude," my friend says. "I know I have some old ketchup packets in my car somewhere."

And he did. But the question remains: how old were they?

They tasted good. I slathered about three of them on my brat, popped open a couple of brews and enjoyed the campfire.

Until about 3:00 a.m. when the most alarming pain ripped through my gut. I sat straight up in my sleeping bag. Another lightning bolt of pain. Oh, man, I gotta get out of this tent, I thought. Of course, the tent flap was stuck.

Naturally, my friend had to wake up.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm sick. I need OUT OF THIS TENT. Fucking, NOW." The flap finally came unstuck, and I started to run blindly when I realized I'd forgotten my head lamp. Nevertheless, In the distance I could barely make out a Boy Scout campfire, so I could sort of see, a little. Another lightning bolt of pain. Then I realized two things: 1. I had NO idea where the header was. 2. I had about 4 seconds to find a bathroom.

Writhing in agony, I whipped down my bibs and humiliated myself accompanied by a chorus of unpleasant loud noises that seemed to take at least five minutes.

Suddenly I heard giggling. The damned Boy Scouts were listening to my orchestra of butt-trumpets. Then I realized that I'd taken a dumper in a clearing, not in the woods. Everyone would see come morning. Uh-oh. Oh, well.

Filled with shame, I pulled up my bibs. You'd think this scenario was over, right? Wrong. For the next hour and half, this scenario was repeated every ten minutes until my friend finally said,

"Let's pack it up, drive into town, and get you some Pepto Bismol."

I don't know what was worse, to have to do what I did so shamefully, or to be laughed at for getting caught with my bibs down, practically shitting myself.

I hope one of them stepped in it.

Moral? Ketchup packets = not a good idea. Not a good idea at all.