It was the night before college graduation from Stanford University and all sorts of hijinks were afoot. We were roaming around campus moving from party to party. Perry demanded to be rolled around in a wheelchair, slamming into unfortunates in our path, then to have a miraculous recovery on a dance floor at one of the parties later that evening.

Pranks were not unusual between my friends and me. My sophomore year I returned to my dorm room to find a flattened road-kill squirrel tacked to the front of my door. Other dormmates were horrified but I just found it funny - so I left it up - at least until the maggots emerged. Most weekends during college I was traveling (to compete in speedskating or cycling competitions) and my best friends - Kevin, John, Perry, Sam, Shawn, and Andrew - would drive me to the airport - but in return would have access to my car for the long weekends. This was pre 9/11 when you could still be greeted at the gate for a returning aircraft. Well, it became a tradition for them to create some sort of stir when I returned from whatever competition I was returning from. Sometimes they were in drag makeup and clothes and insisted on all kissing me after I cleared the gate. A few times they carried signs welcoming back the “war-hero” from some unknown battle (to awkward cheers when I emerged from the plane.) One time they were shirtless. It was a crapshoot but hilarious.

Graduation evening and I didn’t know what was coming my way. At one point I declared I had to use the restroom and I was pointed to a pair of blue port-o-potties near the emblematic “claw” fountain on campus. Perry, John, Kevin, Sam, and I headed over and I entered the dark blue confines of the plastic hut.

Just moments later I could feel it - a sudden swaying - a sense of vertigo inside the blue plastic ellipsoid. “Hey!” I yelled, “Not funny!” In the dark, I could hear the dark blue chemical liquid sloshing around beneath me and imagined the nastiness I could already smell replete with specks of white toilet paper and brown feces churning from the motion. I almost gagged.

And then it happened - I was suddenly tilted up and over forward and fell onto my face as 100 gallons of chemicals, shit, and toilet paper washed over me. I managed to keep my head above “water”, but the rest of me was swimming in shit. I managed to stand up - sort of - and crouched in the short space.

In the dark, I was looking for the door, but quickly realized that I was standing on it. There was no way out. I was trapped. The dark liquid was very warm from a full day in the hot sun and I was trying not to vomit in the rising fetid stench. “GET ME OUT!” I yelled.

My friends realized that the prank had gone off the rails and began to push to roll the toilet off its own door, which only made my perch less certain. They succeeded in rolling me to the right 90 degrees (as I fell sideways) so that they could open the door and I managed to not dunk my face in the funk and climbed out with their help. My clothes blue and reeking of the chemicals and feces and urine. I checked my anger and decided to make a pronouncement.

“One day,” I said slowly and clearly, “one day I will get each one of you back for this. Sleep cautiously - it may take years, but you’ll rue the day…” I looked them all in the eyes.

I am still planning and scheming and one day, I will get them all back… Perry, John, Sam and Kevin - be nervous…

Why Am I Still Alive Pt. 28: The Porta Potty Incident