Every single person on this planet has his or her own special talent. For instance, Michael Phelps can swim ridiculously fast; Slash can play the guitar louder than a hurricane; and me, well, I have the unique ability to completely clear out a public restroom. Sure, it isn’t the coolest God-given talent to have. I won’t earn a gold medal or a Grammy for my bathroom evacuation efforts, but that doesn’t mean my abilities are any less wonderful or amazing than the talents of Picasso or Leonardo da Vinci. It’s just that nobody is going to hang something I created in a Walmart public restroom up at the Louvre.
I didn’t ask for the ability to clear out a public bathroom quicker than a fire alarm no more than Channing Tatum requested the ability to be a great dancer. Channing and I were simply born with our gifts. When Channing does his thing, women—including my wife, whom I love—swoon over him. When I do my thing, people pinch their noses, gag, and run for fresh air. Channing enjoys a crowd and cameras while he shows off his talent. I lock myself in a bathroom stall and hide from society when I am displaying my talent.
My talent is really more of a super power, and with great power comes great responsibility. I choose to use my powers for good instead of evil. I have struggled my whole life to resist the temptations of the dark side. I don’t intentionally use my power to harm people—though it does happen occasionally. There was an incident on a train during a school field trip in which the bathroom was dangerously close to the dining car. I don’t want to get into the dirty details here, but for safety precautions, people were moved to other cars. I was young and didn’t realize my abilities.
Similar to adolescent X-Men, I stumbled upon my powers during my formative years. Not understanding my abilities, I inadvertently harmed those close to me. My parents will never forget the day my powers rose to full strength. We were enjoying a wonderful day at a Six Flags amusement park. I had eaten an overpriced and undercooked hamburger and then rode the Colossus rollercoaster. My stomach wasn’t feeling too solid so I casually headed into a simple, unassuming public restroom. My family waited patiently outside.
While I was inside the large multi-stall restroom doing my thing, my parents watched people begin to stumble out of the building waving their hands in front of their noses. Some people were gagging and others had tears in their eyes. Not knowing what was happening, my father bravely went into the room to see what was going on. He walked into a toxic cloud of stench that knocked him back toward the door. Other grown men were desperately trying to exit the room, vying for oxygen. My father gave up and retreated back to the rest of the family, who were watching the mass exodus from the bathroom. Understandably they were worried about their young son, who was still inside the hostile environment. Then the most amazing thing happened: Their young boy casually walked out the door with a smile on his face. Personally, I was quite refreshed. I was the only one in the building unaffected by the powerful and repugnant cloud of toxins that destroyed the paint on the walls. I was unaffected by my own powers. It was then that my parents realized my true talents: I had the power to smash toilets.
I have been decimating public restrooms my whole life. Luckily, my powers only work when I’m traveling, which is why my family is able to coexist with me in our home. If I eat well and stay home, I can fend off my powers. But it’s the combination of traveling, fast food, and a small amount of anxiety that creates the perfect storm in my stomach, which can knock over an elephant. Similar to the Hulk, who you don’t want to make angry, you don’t want to make me nervous on a road trip.
Recently my powers nearly got me in trouble politically. We were traveling in the Washington, D.C., area and I had eaten a Slam Burger at Denny’s. For those of you not familiar with the fine delicacies of Denny’s, the Slam Burger is a hamburger topped with a fried egg. That tasty abomination hit my stomach lining like pieces of broken concrete right as I was going through the security screening at the White House. I asked a security guard if I could use the restroom. My wife shot me a glance, desperately asking me not to do what she knew I was about to do. I couldn’t stop my stomach. My powers were brewing. My brow was beaded with sweat and things were in motion; my super powers were gaining control over my body. Just like Superman needs a phone booth, I needed a restroom immediately.
I was directed to a small bathroom off of a hallway. I remember thinking that it was a good thing that there was only one commode in the restroom so nobody else would be affected by my powers. However, I grossly underestimated my power’s range. As I sat down and smashed one of the President’s toilets, a waft of death stench began to seep under the door and take over the hallway. My wife and kids knew what was happening and tried to widen the gap between themselves and the bathroom. Secret Service people began to talk into their sleeves. Yellow hazardous materials tape was strewn across the hall. My wife thought I might be arrested for bringing a weapon of mass destruction into the White House.
I finished my business, washed my hands, and calmly walked away as if I didn’t have a care in the world (which I didn’t since I had just flushed all of my stress away). Secret Service men rushed past me, looking for someone who fit the description of a terrorist, and allowed me to walk away. I continued along the halls as cool as an international spy who just infiltrated one of the world’s toughest security blocks. No one would ever know that it was me who just bombed the White House. m
Rob is currently on both the CIA and FBI watch lists. His wife is refusing to travel with him. Send comments through the executive editor at rmiller@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 5-12, 2014.
