Jeepney Jitters II: The Diarrhea Chronicle


Note: This story includes explicit words and themes that may be inappropriate for you especially if you’re eating at ¿Qué Pasa?, you rich kid. Reader discretion is advised.

We’ve all had that moment where you’re like, shit. Literally.

I’ve already told this story once to my Atenean friends as we had a mini recess at the melting pot of affordable and delectable food, 2nd Gate, in Sta. Cruz. This story has also been witnessed by three people, namely my mother, sister, and younger brother, which the latter plays quite a gross but very important role in this little story of success and failure, family, love and the meaning of life.

The Beginning of Everything

Like most stories, it has to start at the beginning. And it’s the Indonesians who are to blame.

4:42, I guess, when my Philippine History teacher was on her Pre-colonial Philippines discussion (mostly about the waves of migration by Prof. Beyer). She was an Effie Trinket of some sort, because she was always holding a set of 1/8 sheet of papers with our names on it and she’d call anyone by random, like the reaping.

tumblr_lys34gjLB21qeuj9uOddly enough, it was an unlucky day for me when her fingertips caught the edge of my 1/8 sheet of paper. I was called.

What did the Type A Indonesians look like?, she asked.

As I looked for answers inside my empty brain, I was led to shrug my shoulders sheepishly.

I don’t know, ma’am, I was like. Also known as:

chris tucker fuckOK.

So I sat down, partly embarrassed, partly feeling something in my gut very suddenly. Was it butterflies in my stomach? I wished.

The aching began. Slowly, mildly, then angrily, in all sorts of rave, like my stomach was going ’round and ’round and churning all the food I had eaten into a disgusting liquid shit byproduct. Like there was a party happening right inside me. I could feel the heat inside my gut, transporting through my lungs and my heart until finally my neck and my whole shameful face. I was sweating bullets. I knew it was something serious, my stomach was acting up. I was having diarrhea.

The Journey

Of course, anyone’s response would be, go to the nearest restroom!

But my friends, there is a situation. My ass is not applicable to shitting at any other place except home, sweet sweet home.

And so the journey began…

I left school and decided I will go dump at home. I rode the tricycle very quickly. I usually ask to pull over by Union Bank where most empty San Felipe jeepneys queue along. But there was no empty seat in the front! Shame! The urgency forced me to sit right at the end part of the left bench nearest to the driver. Perk was I could say para without having to yell, but con was I had to be everyone’s conduit in passing their fares.

“fare enough” *ba dum tss

As the jeepney waited and waited and waited for more passengers to come in, I was starting to feel a bit queasy, aside from my ass near to exploding.

In this moment, it had come the time when you just start to hate everyone for being talky and crowded and annoying. Like, even staring at a baby you’d be like, fuck you. Fuck you all. Couldn’t blame me, I was feeling shitty (pun intended).

Finally, the engines of the jeepney started roaring, exhaling nauseating fumes, eventually moving forward towards our destination. Home.

The Stirrings

You know what’s really annoying when you are about to shit in a public vehicle in front of about 21 judgmental people? Traffic.

Rush hour. Don’t get me started on this one.

The universe had probably planned that day for me when the highways are tightly traffic-jammed and crowded so I reach my destination pants-full-O’shit. But I wasn’t letting the universe win, or anyone for that matter. I was going to go home. AND SHIT.

As we reached the intersection of Peñafrancia Ave. and Santonja St. (by the Colgante Bridge), the stirrings worsened.

“It was that part of the diarrhea process where your asshole is 3 seconds from exploding. It was the moment of surrender and acceptance. I felt that it was time. I am accepting whatever happens. Even if that meant shitting in my pants as an adult, in front of many people, reeking the whole jeep.”


My legs were all twitchy (sorry to that high school girl I sat with, she might have been a little agitated). I was doing whatever means just so my butt does not defecate at the wrong time.

The End…or so I thought

The traffic was unbearable! It was mocking me. There’s this one immediate stop by Naga College Foundation for almost 10 minutes. Imagine keeping your diarrhea-d ass from shitting in 10 stationary, immobile minutes.

Eventually, the jeepney wheeled forward. The Peñafrancia Avenue Road right after the Magsaysay-Liboton-Peñafrancia intersection is always a free highway in late afternoons. The traffic was getting better. But not my gut, or my ass. As we moved closer and closer to the destination, my gut was churning harder and harder.

Ultimately, I had yelled my para, and got off the vehicle, proud and successful. I had won.

Not Yet The End

Have you ever had something so awesome that it just makes you so happy, and then something or somebody just takes that away from you so easily? The hopes are up and up so high, yet, something—something that the universe set up just to make a laughing joke out of you—comes up unexpectedly and your words become as good as…dafuq.

Well, this happened.

As I stepped off the jeepney feeling good pride in myself, I was staring with flaming curiosity at my younger brother, who was seemingly walking from the intersection towards our street. Fine, I thought.

I said a tiny hi and then ran, yelling Ma-udo ako! at him. Literally means, I am going to take a shit! Well what do you know? His reply was, Ako muna! Subago pa ako. In English: I am stupid.

Kidding. It meant, I will go first! I have been wanting to! (note: not exact translation)

my exact feelings in that moment

my exact feelings in that moment

Turned out, we both had diarrhea! Thanks a lot, universe.

We started running to the house. And since I am less athletic and was more scared that I would splatter all of my digestion on the pavement, I lost.


Summary: Well, I guess you’ve imagined this. I walked around and walked around and crossed my legs and sat and sat and jumped (?) and twerked and cried. Yes, friends. I cried a cry of toilet-wanting.

All I could tell my brother was, this is really going to be funny once we’re done. Which undoubtedly was.

The Actual End

At the end, (contrary to your expectation), I didn’t shit my pants or die or explode. I just acted like a baby and then took a shit after my brother. It was a miraculous moment—although I only shat like 4 mL of shit. Weird.

Still, it was a hell of an experience. A jeepney jitter almost becoming a pants-shitting tale.

Trivia: I shit my pants in 3rd grade! Not going to blog it. Worse than so many worst things. Ugh.

Thanks for skimming!


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