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The original was posted on /r/maliciouscompliance by /u/darwhyte on 2024-08-04 22:09:25+00:00.

Things we obeyed as children we can laugh at now

Sometimes as children we found ourselves in a bathroom crisis.

This is my story of Malicious Compliance.

When I was 6 years old I was with my parents when they parked In front of a store. They told me they were only going to be in there for a few minutes, and they wanted me to wait in the car. They made it VERY CLEAR that I was to wait for them to come out and UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES was I to leave the car and come into the store, so I waited in the car, as I was told to do.

A few minutes later I had to use the bathroom REALLY bad. REALLY BAD. I thought about going into the store but I was worried about getting into trouble for leaving the car, so I contemplated what to do, then I saw a brown paper Zellers shopping bag on the floor.

Hallelujah!

I pulled down my drawers and deposited a HUGE Cleveland Steamer right into the brown paper bag.

Relief!

But the satisfaction of relief quickly passed as I realized that now I have another problem:

What do I do with the bag of shit that is now in the car? I knew if my parents found out that I did that I would be in trouble, so the solution my 6 year old brain came up with was to slide the bag under the front seat to hide it, so that’s what I did, slid the bag with the fragrant log in it right under where my Father would be sitting while he drove the car.

A few minutes later my parents return, with me sitting innocently like a little angel in the back seat. My parents got into the car and told me they were proud of me for being a good little boy and doing as I was told.

Dad settles into his seat, starts up the car, then starts sniffing. He sniffs some more and looks at my mother and says, “Carolyn, do you smell shit?”

“Yes Bobby I do!”, she replied.

“For the love of Christ, get him in the tub as soon as we get home!”, my father gasped.

So we get home and I am promptly put in the tub.

The next day we get into the car to go somewhere. My Father just gets settled into his seat, then looks at my mother and says, “Jesus Christ Carolyn! I thought you said you washed him yesterday!”

“Yes I did Bobby!”

“Well you didn’t do a very good fucking job then, because he fucking smells like a ripe fucking shithouse in a Goddamned heat wave!”

“Shut up Bobby, I’ll wash him again when we get back home.”

So we went about our business as the smell in the car was intense and unbearable. We had all four widows down, but the July heat kept things good and pungent.

We FINALLY get back home after being accompanied by a CONSTANT chorus of foul language coming from my Father.

Back into the tub I go.

My Morher cleaned me extra good, and really scrubbed my bum. I leave the tub clean as a whistle, not a hint or a mere sniff of shit smell. Problem resolved.

The NEXT time we got in the car we were going to pick my grandmother up to take her somewhere.

My Father settles into his seat.

Starts the car up. A few seconds later, he slams his fist down onto the dash, looks at my Mother, and roars, “I STILL SMELL SHIT! I STILL SMELL FUCKING SHIT!!!”

“Bobby! Calm down! I fucking told you I washed him! AND, I checked him before we got into the car, and he did not smell like shit! I smell shit too, suffering Jesus, but I can fucking tell you it IS NOT coming from him!”

“Then where’s it coming from, Carolyn?”

“I don’t fucking know Bobby!”

We pick my Grandmother up. The smell in the car is PURE TORTURE! I could tell my Grandmother was REALLY suffering as we MARINATED IN THE STENCH, but she did not want to be rude, so she suffered in silence with the rest of us.

Finally my Father comes right onto the brakes, pulls the car over, breaks the uncomfortable silence and screams, “I can’t take it anymore!”

“THERE’S SHIT SOMEWHERE IN THIS GODDAMNED FUCKING CAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!”

“I FUCKING KNOW IT, AND IF I HAVE TO TEAR THIS GODDAMNED FUCKING CAR COMPLETELY APART TO FIND IT, THAT’S WHAT I’LL GODDAMNED DO!!!”

We all get out of the car and he starts sniffing around. He noticed the smell was stronger closer to the floor.

When I slid the bag of shit under the seat, I didn’t roll up the end of the bag, so one end of the bag was open.

My Father is sniffing around and feeling around everywhere.

He slides his hand under the seat on the passenger side and feels around.

Nothing.

He slides his had under the seat on the drivers side and feels around…

Something.

Something soft and squishy.

As he was feeling around under the seat, he slid his hand right into the open side of the bag…

Then an expression of PURE PANIC comes across his face as he recoils his hand in horror!

He leapt out of the car, stood on the side of the road with traffic driving by, looks at his hand right in front of his face, SHIT all over his fingers!

“FFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKMMKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!”

After a VERY SOUND yelling at, I did indeed survive and live to tell this bathroom emergency story and laugh about it years later.