Shit Semester Continues

From our guest writer, Neville. Thanks Nev.

runny shit part II:

so there i was in india...again.

This time in new delhi for a diet coke pitch with mccann. it was my first time there, though i'd been in india for over a year. i'd always heard of delhi-belly but i figured on my diet of pizza and fried chicken, i'd be ok.

i was wrong.

i'd been there for about a week, working on scripts for the pitch. and it was the day before i left so i had to present the management my ideas. and it just so happened, that day was the day mccann erickson new delhi moved to newer, larger offices.

so we met at the new premises in the morning, it was a long massive warehouse type place. we found a meeting room with no desk (the office was an empty shell still), all lit up our cigarettes and i launched into my presentation. i had 5 scripts in total to present, so i started (from best to worst)...

i said the first script. it went down well. second one, it bombed. as i was talking through the third script, my stomach started turning over. like a westinghouse washing machine. i was no longer a virgin to delhi-belly.

i had to stop presenting. i asked the bosses "guys, im sorry, i gotto stop. do you know where the toilet is around here?" they didnt know, so i excused myself and left the meeting room.

as soon as i closed the door behind me, i started sprinting like a buff american on steroids to the other end of the warehouse. there it was. heaven. the toilet door.

i ran into the toilet, didnt bother locking the door behind me, got my pants around my ankles as fast as i could, sat my bum down on the fresh dunny (new office, new toilets, new everything). i was the first to use it. and then it exploded...the amount of unholy water that gushed forth that day was out of control. i was very sick. i had a severe case of delhi belly.

after what seemed like 4 and a half hours on the throne, i was ready to clean up and get off. i reached across: toilet roll holder, no toilet roll. oh dear. water spray gun: not in this toilet. oh dear. ok...think. sink. i could do it indian style - splash some water around my arse. not ideal, but im desperate. ok...turn the tap: no water. oh fuck. ok...what next what next. i could sacrifice my socks: shit, im wearing jesus sandals. undies: today, of ALL FUCKING DAYS im free balling. WHAT THE HELL AM I GONNA DO?

and then it hit me, like a beam of light from the heavens.

i was still holding my beloved A4 PAGES of bad diet coke scripts. glory.

as you know, the A4 page is not the ideal wiping texture, its a bit smooth. but then, i was desperate. so, smooth it had to be. i did the deed. i wiped my arse with the diet coke scripts. there, i said it.

i was ready to leave. the office was starting to fill up now, and i could hear people talking outside. i couldnt leave the paper in the toilet (note: in retrospect, it would have been a great idea to leave the paper in the toilet at this point). so i got up to flush the toilet. NO FLUSH. the toilet water also hadnt been connected. FUCK. what could i do, this situation couldnt be fixed.

i ran out of the toilet, past the people, keeping my head down in the hope they wouldnt recognise me (which again, in retrospect was a bit dumb as i was the only white guy in the office) still holding the now damaged diet coke scripts. what they were about to discover in that toilet would have brought tears to the eyes.

again, i sprinted down the office in the opposite direction this time, right to the end. past the meeting room full of waiting management, past some other tea drinking indians - all of them wondering "why is that ferrang running through the office in his jesus sandals holding shitty smelling screwed up A4 pages" - and made it to a staircase to the basement. down there, it was a huge empty car park.

i ran down the stairs and went over to a dark corner. i lit a cigarette and pondered the situation before me. this moment was not a high point in my life.

i did the only thing that could be done. i burned the evidence.

shitty diet coke scripts. up in flames.

i then ran to the street, jumped in my car, and told him to take me back to the hotel. when i got there, the same thing happened again. only this time there were supplies. i called the creative director, apologised and told him the situation, that i had a stomach upset and had to leave. not the whole story, obviously.

i never saw any of those guys again. a couple of hours later i got an early flight back to bangalore never to return to mccann erickson new delhi, where im sure im remembered fondly.

delhi 1 - tom 0.

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tommo