I Left My Dignity On the Side of a Guatemalan Volcano

The lava was flowing that day. Plus recs for the dancing tree, Jack Karlson's meme, and Ann Friedman's recipes

This week we hit a parenting milestone: the first time the baby got a cold and got all of us sick. Don’t worry though, everyone is doing fine now. The cold itself was relatively minor. But when you’re taking care of a baby, even a minor cold turns out to be very tiring and gross. Despite being very small, our son is capable of producing a shocking amount of snot.

Actual photo of my human child this week

Dealing with so many bodily secretions brought back memories of illnesses past. Specifically, Mollie was reminded of the time I shat my pants on the side of a volcano and then kept it secret for two years.

NOTE: There are two kinds of people in the world, people who find bathroom humor hilarious and those who find it repulsive. If you’re the latter, skip right down to the recommendations and come back next week. For the rest of you sickos, let’s get into it.

The year was 2011. LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem” was on the radio and Transformers was in the theaters. Mollie and I were in Guatemala visiting her high school friend Julia, who was living and working there.

We flew to Guatemala from Boston and headed straight from the airport to Julia’s place. The next morning, we headed out to do a two-day hike up Acatenango, a 13,000 foot volcano. The hike involved camping overnight on the side of the volcano. At the time we agreed to this idea, it seemed like a fun, exciting adventure.

The site of the eruption

Soon after we got to the volcano and started hiking, it became clear that this trek was quite a lot to ask of our bodies. Especially after an international flight, not much rest or hydration, and no time to acclimatize to the altitude. At the base, the organizers of the trek had offered that anyone who wanted could hire a porter to carry their backpack up to camp for them. I believe the cost for this service was $30.

Full of hubris (and undigested American food), I immediately declined. Mollie forked over her $30 instantly and handed off her bag. I scoffed and said that I would be carrying my own equipment, thank you very much.

Within a few hours, my head was throbbing and my heart would not stop pounding. I was struggling to catch my breath. It was very clear that I was experiencing some sort of altitude sickness. But we’d reached the point where we would be camping for the night. The guides asked me to make a call between staying there and sleeping to see if I felt better in the morning or going back down, which would involve our group missing the summit and the lava.

I hadn’t spent much time with Julia at this point and I was desperate to make a good impression on one of Mollie’s closest high school friends. So I deliriously climbed into my tent and passed out (despite it being midafternoon) and slept for 13 hours straight. When I woke up, I felt better. Good enough, I thought, to finish the hike.

We summited the volcano and saw the magma. It was incredible. That’s all that Mollie and Julia knew of the story. In their minds, that was the end of the tale.

But for me, the journey had only just begun. Midway through our descent, I was feeling confident again. I thought I was fully restored. But when I stepped off the trail to take a pee, I discovered that some of my muscles were still experiencing altitude related symptoms. Specifically the muscles that held in any/all of my poop. As soon as I released the muscles controlling my bladder, I instantly felt my thermal underwear fill as well. I cried out loud, “Oh no, please no, not here!”

But there was no pleading with the god of Acatenango. This volcano would have its sacrifice.

The one thing I had going in my favor was that I was wearing long underwear. So I was able to take off my pants, clean up the mess as best I could with the now foul longjohns, and then throw them and my boxers as far into the volcano shrubbery as I could. I was now wearing only my hiking pants, there was no external sign of the chaos that I had endured.

Except for the smell.

I concocted a plan that, at the time, I thought was brilliant, but I now see as a sign that my brain was still not receiving a sufficient amount of oxygen: I deliberately and very theatrically, fell down on several steep and dusty sections of the trail. Then I loudly complained, “Oh no, I must have rolled in something. Oh that’s gross, I gotta shower. Must have been an animal on the trail.”

We got to the base and loaded into the van that would drive us back to the city. I insisted on keeping my window fully open despite the clouds of dust that were blowing in from the dirt road. When we arrived back at Julia’s apartment, I sprinted inside and immediately jumped in the shower, not even asking if maybe my girlfriend or the woman whose apartment it was wanted to shower first.

Once I was out of the shower, I was clean and in the clear. No one knew what had happened. No one would ever know. I swore a private oath that this was a story I would take with me to my grave.

For two years, I succeeded. By that point, Julia had moved back to the U.S. and was living with us as a roommate. One night, a friend came over for dinner and compared notes with Julia on their travels in Guatemala. At one point, we were laughing about how hard the hike had been and how I’d gotten altitude sickness and passed out. Unthinking, I said, “and that wasn’t even the worst part!”

Julia and Mollie instantly turned on me. “What do you mean that wasn’t the worst part?” They wouldn’t drop it until I finally confessed. The whole sordid story came out. I could see the pieces fall into place in their mind.

Acatenango. The volcano of many eruptions.

My projects and upcoming events:

LIVE IN NYC: Wrong Answers Only at Symphony Space - Thursday, September 19th at 7 p.m. Tickets are on sale for this show where an expert on computer security gets interviewed by a panel of comics that includes me, Michael Cruz Kayne, and Ziwe! Details and tickets here

This week’s list

GREAT:

I want to visit this tree. I want to live in a city that has a tree like this tree. I want to go to a tree party that is on the tree dance floor that is inside of this tree. This is an incredible tree. Trees to make you happy: The Tanzlinde of Peesten (h/t Ingrid Fetell Lee’s School of Joy)

FUNNY:

Jack Karlson, the man behind one of Australia’s most famous memes, passed away this week. I only learned about him by reading the tributes and the obituaries, like this one in the BBC. This guy was a true character. Karlson lived a colorful life full of adventures. The video of his 1991 arrest, which he claimed was a case of mistaken identity, is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. I’d never seen it before this week but I understand why it’s considered iconic in Australia. I cried tears of laughter and I’ve probably watched this 50 times in the last 3 days. Succulent Chinese Meal

INTERESTING:

I always love reading Ann Friedman’s newsletter. Even on the weeks when she’s taking vacation, like this one, there’s something excellent in there. This week, she posted the responses from her reader survey where she asked subscribers to share their “go-to, no-thinking dinner recipe.” I’m excited to try making a lot of these meals. I love getting inspiration for a meal that takes almost no thought or effort. That’s a category of cooking that we should be reading more about, in my opinion! 50 Go-To Dinner Recipes

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Paying subscribers make Bright Spots possible! Subscribers get access to special features as well as all posts in the archive. Paying subscribers also get my undying gratitude (which never dies). It’s never too late to join them!

That's it for this week. Thanks for reading! Please share Bright Spots with anyone you think might enjoy it.

Taking no secrets to my grave, apparently,

Chris Duffy

This has been Bright Spots, a newsletter.

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…wait, who are you?

I'm Chris Duffy, a comedian, TV writer, podcast host, and both a former fifth grade teacher and a former fifth grade student. I’m currently writing a nonfiction book about humor for Doubleday.