Shit Happens

Twice a week I pick up two boys after school, walk them home, and play with them until their mother returns from work. Allegedly my job is also to teach them English (they're French), something at which I have not been particularly successful. The brothers are 3 and 5, and about as well-behaved as one can expect two boys of their ages to be. (I'm kidding - they're actually pretty good most of the time, except for when they get too rambunctious and I have to physically separate them). Last week, however, was an incident that I doubt any of us will forget any time soon.

We were about halfway home when 3 starts tugging on my arm and crying for his mother. I reassure him that she will come back soon, but as we continue to walk the tantrum escalates in volume and intensity. Finally he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and, still holding my hand, stamps his feet while screaming wordlessly. 

And that's when I hear it - an unmistakeable fart followed by a god-awful stench.

"He needs to go to the bathroom," says 5, unhelpfully.

We're only a few blocks away from their apartment, but 3 doesn't want to move. (Not that I blame him; soiling yourself is probably one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever). He's still crying, so I pick him up and continue onwards with 5 in tow.

By the time we get to the front door the tears have subsided and 3 is babbling on about what he wants for his afternoon snack, but I'm thinking ahead to how I'm going to handle the situation. (Previously, 3 was too shy to go to the bathroom in my presence and preferred to wait for his mom to get home).

I set their snacks out on the dining room table, noticing that 3 doesn't take a seat like he usually does but instead eats standing up. 5 keeps wrinkling his nose and scowling at his brother, telling him to go to the bathroom. I ask 3 several times if he wants to go, but he keeps saying no.

They finish eating, and 3 asks if he can have some chocolate. I take the opportunity to bargain, saying that if he goes to the bathroom he can eat chocolate afterwards. 3 merely pouts. After turning down my offer again, I hold my breath and carry him into the bathroom.

3 initially struggles, but becomes submissive as I start to remove his pants. It immediately becomes clear that not only did he poop, he appears to have had an episode of exploding diarrhea. As I try to figure out where to put his soiled clothing so as not to contaminate the house, 3 takes the opportunity to clamber up to the toilet to take a piss, smearing crap all over the seat in the process.

Naturally 5 bursts in at exactly this moment, on the pretext of having to pee, and freaks out when he sees the state of the toilet seat.

"Go play with your toys," I urge him.

"You better clean that really well!" 5 says to me over his shoulder as he leaves.

Meanwhile 3 has finished and looks at me expectantly. Seeing as his entire lower body is covered in filth, I decide it's best to stick him in the bathtub and hose him down with the detachable shower head. 3 acquiesces, but only after I reassure him that I won't get his head wet.

Once clean 3's mood lightens considerably. After drying him off he escapes to the hallway, and I have to catch him so I can put clean clothes on.

I guess you could call it a bonding experience, because I notice that suddenly 3 is a lot less shy around me and that he actually listens when I tell him to do (or not to do) things. Seeing as this was around Thanksgiving time, I couldn't help but think how thankful I am not to be a parent.

But it seems that 3 finally trusts me now, so that's something.

Eating in the Dark

As a post final exam celebration, a group of us embarked on what I can only describe as the extreme of sensory experiences and adventurous eating: we had dinner at Dans le Noir.

A trendy restaurant with branches in Paris, London, Barcelona, New York and Saint Petersburg, Dans le Noir attempts to turn haute cuisine on its head by having patrons eat, well, in the dark. But it’s not just any kind of darkness; it’s the sort of pitch black that exists only in nightmares; the kind that even eyes with 20/20 vision cannot adjust to.

They say that you eat with your eyes first. Well, at Dans le Noir you end up eating with pretty much everything else. Adaptive plasticity is what enables blind people’s other senses to become heightened, and so too after being seated, it’s up to your nose, mouth and fingers to try to discern what’s on the plate in front of you. Because having a blind meal is only part of the fun - the other part is that you’re only told what you’re served after you’ve eaten it. So course by course you’re left guessing what the chef prepared. In theory this kind of literal blind tasting should make you appreciate food for more than its aesthetics - the odors, the textures, etc. In practice, though, it’s a much less dignified experience. Eating without being able to see poses a number of challenges, like getting the food from the plate into your mouth and not onto your face.

Our server, despite her best efforts, managed to spill some wine on my lap and clip the back of my head with a plate. But this was nothing compared to poor George, one half of the British couple seated somewhere to my left, whose dessert sampler somehow got shoved right into his nose.

While the eating part of the meal was tricky, talking to people when you can’t see them was possibly even more disconcerting. I suppose we must have been speaking at an elevated volume to compensate, for our server kept urging us not to shout. So while I can’t ultimately recommend the food, I can say that the experience produces a lot of conversational gems, like the following.

“I just ate a lemon.”

“What is this shit?!”

“Ow! That was my nose!”

“I keep picking up my fork, and then it’s empty.”

“Who’s touching my leg?!”

“I hope this wine is going into my glass…”

“OH MY GOD! WAS THAT SQUID??”

“You’re talking right into my face. Are you trying to kiss me?”

“Alright, screw it. I’m using my fingers.”

So, if you’re ever in need of a creative first date…