As part of my itinerary, the next travel destination was the zoo. I had booked a private tour for it, which meant I’d have a vehicle all to myself for sightseeing. The company had shared the driver’s details with me so I could contact them directly.

When I arrived, I met the driver — a young Thai lady, probably just a few years older than me. She had a blonde-brown bob and an oval face that perfectly suited her haircut — overall, very attractive. She greeted me with a polite smile and a soft, “Sawadee ka,” before confirming, “Zoo, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied with a smile, getting into the backseat.

She spoke only Thai and a tiny bit of English — just enough to get by. Despite the language barrier, she was friendly and professional throughout the drive.

We reached the zoo around 10 a.m. “You go see zoo. I wait here,” she said, pointing to the spot where she’d parked. “When finish, you come same place.”

“Got it,” I replied, stepping out with my camera and a bottle of water.

I spent the next couple of hours exploring the zoo — feeding elephants, taking pictures, and trying out the local buffet. By the time I finished around noon, I had clearly eaten a bit too much for my stomach’s capacity.

After the visit, I returned to the same spot where she’d dropped me off.

“Hotel now?” she asked, confirming our next stop.

I paused for a second. “No, no hotel,” I said slowly. I opened Maps on my phone, pointed at the screen showing the mall’s location — with the name written in both English and Thai — and continued, “Here… mall. You drop here, not hotel.”

She thought for a moment, then replied, “Mall… okay, 100 baht more, yes? Little far.”

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes, okay.”, handing her the extra cash. She nodded, started the engine, and we set off for the mall — about 40 kilometers away.

I leaned back into the seat, relaxed, and watched the city drift by, completely unaware of the discomfort that would soon follow.

About halfway through the drive, I felt an urge to pee. It wasn’t too bad yet, so I figured I could hold it until we reached the mall. But holding it in created gas too. And since I was in a fully air-conditioned car — that too with an attractive young lady — I was definitely not going to let one rip. Also, asking her for a bathroom stop felt way too embarrassing.

Soon, the cramping from holding in the gas got intense, turning into a desperate need to poop. I could tell from the rumbling in my stomach and the pressure in my ass that this wasn’t going to be an easy hold. I tried to distract myself by watching some Netflix, but the situation inside my body was escalating far faster than the show’s storyline. There came a moment when I was convinced I’d shit my pants right there in a moving vehicle in a foreign country. Every thought in my head was screaming: “Poop. Now. Anywhere.”

And so in full panic mode, I opened a translator app and typed: “I need to go to the bathroom” so the driver could understand the dire situation I was in. Even though I knew we were stuck on the highway and chances of finding a toilet were slim, I still showed it to her — mainly because she was a local Thai resident, hoping she might somehow know a nearby spot or could help once the traffic subsided. She glanced at it, smiled, and giggled softly (which, trust me, didn’t help my situation), and said: "No toilet, hold please, few minutes".

My stomach twisted at those words. I clenched my butt as if my life depended on it. At this point every brake she hit felt like a direct punch there.

After what felt like an hour of pure torture, we finally reached the mall’s basement parking. I rushed to get out, but she asked me to stay so she could click a photo for proof that she dropped off a customer. I smiled weakly, dying inside, and waved goodbye.

The moment she drove off, I began the most urgent brisk walk of my life toward the mall's entrance. My relief turned into horror when I saw a huge line for the stalls. I was seconds away from exploding, and could barely stand straight. And after waiting for ten agonizing minutes for a stall, I finally got into one.

I peed first. Weirdly, that made the urge to poop go away. Thinking I was in the clear, I left the stall and decided to explore the mall.

Five minutes later, it hit me again — harder. This time, I knew for sure that if I didn’t hurry, my pants would become my bathroom. I sprinted into the nearest bathroom, barely got into a stall, and unloaded so much poop in one go that I honestly worried the toilet wouldn’t flush.

Then came my next problem. The only option to clean myself was toilet paper. As someone used to a jet spray, this was a nightmare. I sighed at it and started my wiping session with it, but instead of cleaning, the toilet paper just smeared the mess everywhere.

After about five long pulls and ten minutes of art and craft with it, I somewhat felt clean enough to stand up again. But just to be safe, I pulled one more long piece, crushed it, and stuffed it between my butt cheeks as a “just-in-case safety buffer.” My logic was if I missed anything, this would catch it — and honestly, having that there was better than having sticky cheeks that open like Velcro later (if you know what I mean).

The only downside? The paper between my ass crack made crunchy noises when I walked and every time I sat down, it poked my poor, delicate butthole like a cactus.

Once I got back to my hotel, I rushed to the bathroom, removed the paper from my underwear, and finally gave my poor butt hole the proper jet-spray cleanse it deserved. Sweet, sweet relief.

Moral of the story:

Eat carefully while traveling and don’t be shy to ask your driver to stop if you need to pee (or poop, or maybe both). Your body (and your pants) will thank you for it.

My biggest mistake was waiting too long to tell her about my situation, which made everything ten times worse. Still, this is one travel memory I’ll remember for a long time to come — not for the embarrassment, but for the reminder that sometimes life doesn’t always give you warning before things start… moving.