When I was about 8 or 9, maybe 10, my dad and I visited my grandma one afternoon. We hung around there for a little bit, she gave me a sweatshirt that she'd been saving (probably from Goodwill or Salvation Army), and then my Dad and I went to Sports Mart, which is basically a Sports Authority.
While browsing around, I got that feeling in the stomach. The "diarrhea just dropped into my stomach and then my anus in a matter of milliseconds" feeling. I wandered off from my dad to find the bathroom. After searching with no luck for a few minutes, I asked an employee where the bathroom was. He said it was by the bikes near the front of the store. I quickly ran to that direction, but could not find it. I walked up and down the bike aisles repeatedly for the next few minutes. Still couldn't find it.
The pain was terrible. My ass was burning. There was no time to find my dad or another employee. My time had run out.
I made my way into the corner of the store in the bike aisle. I slowly pushed. Wet farts, followed by mud-textured shit came out. I began to walk a little bit thinking it'd be smarter to not stay in one place. So much pressure had built up that it was time to release it all. I let out a huge fart and massive amounts of diarrhea poured out. Still walking and wet poop dripping down my inner thighs, I continued to squirt away.
By the time I finished, my legs were caked and soaked with diarrhea. I was wearing those nike swooshy nylon pants that were tight around the ankles...yes, the poop collected all in there. And what ran out just went into my socks.
I found my dad a few minutes later and we left. As we walked out, I looked over to the bike section and saw that the bathrooms were just on the other side of the wall, closest to the exit doors. I had never felt so shitty before. Pun intended.
The story doesn't end there. It was time to drive home, probably about a 30 minute drive. While in the car, I propped myself up ever so slightly so that my dad couldn't tell (I didn't want to sit directly in my shit, although I was already covered in it so don't ask me why). I rolled down my window immediately after entering the car. During the drive, he asked what that awful smell was and I quickly said that it must be the sweatshirt that grandma gave me. He believed it. He continued to make remarks about the stench throughout the drive, but never accused me.
We got home and my idiotic self ran to my parents bathroom and threw my pants in their dirty clothes hamper and showered. About an hour later I was sitting downstairs all nice and fresh and I heard my dad yell my name. You know, the yell from your parents where you know they're mad and that you're about to get reamed.
He scolded me. I confessed. Fuck Sports Mart. And yes, this is a 100% true story.