Instant Karma (The Most Disgusting Thing I've Ever Seen)

I have worked in varied fields throughout my life which I would like to think has allowed me to witness a diversity of thought in different situation that, in retrospect, has been pivotal to my growth.  Looking back I can pinpoint certain times that I now realize held more importance than others. Its these little slices of memory that pop into my head and allow me to navigate current situations merely by recalling how much worse things could be...or have been.
There is one such event that stands out in my mind that over the years has continuously educated and prepared me way more than I could have originally suspected on that fateful day.  This experience made me believe in miracles and Karma in a time when my religous beliefs had all but come to a halt. This experience gave me a sense of something greater than myself governing the cosmic lessons, that occasionally, have to be forced upon us so that we will be able to deal with the future stresses of life without imploding.
I was 16 years old with a summer job on a deep sea/sport fishing boat which I had gotten because my sister was dating the son of the captain.  Her boyfriend was a short, boistrous Irishman that enjoyed continuously ordering me around.  Yes, I was the second mate and technically as first mate he had all of the power to lord over me in front of clients 5 miles offshore, that he desired.  He knew this and was particularly fond of making me clean out the head whenever his machismo was threatened. Which turned me into an expert toilet cleaner.  He was loud, brash, and annoying but I dealt with it knowing that if he ever stepped over the line too far I would beat the shit out of him once we made port. On this particular day his relationship with my sister was on the rocks and he had apparently decided to transfer whatever anger issues he had with her onto me.  I was his bitch on the water... and he knew it.
The charter that day was packed.  The 55' boat was filled to capacity with 45 office types that seemingly hadn't been this far from land for... well...ever.  The sun was shining after a rainstorm that had blown through the previous evening and the resulting 6' swells moved the boat around enough to keep the khaki and izod crowd shuffling back and forth.  There was the general restrained, underlying nervousness of a crowd of people who had been taken out of their comfort zone and dropped into something that they were hyped up to believe was going to be a lot cooler than what they were experiencing. I could tell quickly by the joking and one-upsmanship that they had brought the office dynamic to the boat and while the pecking order had been obvious when we left the dock it had morphed into something more based on the the shade of green that most turned by the time we set the anchor for the first time that day. 
I had been running like crazy since 4:30 that morning when I stepped onto the boat.  I began by wiping down the seats and benches from the nights precipitation and mopping the decks of their moisture as well. I diced up 6 gallons of sea-clams, some of which were still frozen and some teetering on the brink of liquification due to decomposition.  (The bad clams usually went over the side without my dinner from the previous night...barely.)  Then I tested all of the poles and gear that we would use that day, then made extra weighted leader/hook rigs for when we would inevitably need them later that day.  The customers showed up en-mass at around 5:30 loaded up their beer, wine, and catered lunches and we were under way by 6:00am.  My job was to keep them fishing, which included showing them how to bait their own hooks (...teach a man to fish...), then wrestle whatever came in over the side.  This included dogfish, wolf-fish, sea cucumbers, herring, bluefish, striped bass, haddock, cod, flounder, etc.   Also in my job description was untangling lines, setting up new rigs, washing the decks off, weighing anchor and every unsavory thing that the first mate could think of. 
We moved the boat several  times that day before finally settling into a decent spot where the fish were hitting more vigorously, all the while having the first mate ride my ass as though there were a speed of working greater than a flat-out run.  He was trying to ingratiate himself to the corporate higher-ups by showing them how he strictly he ran his boat.  Since I was lowest on the totem pole that day I had to bust ass and do all of the grunt work while he took the easy jobs, spent a lot of the time socializing, and kissing ass so that he would get a good tip at the end of the day.
The catered lobster-lunch brought on board that day had been obviously ordered by someone without the forethought not to bring something that was practically indescernable in smell to that of both the sea clams ( of which there were hundreds diced in buckets sitting in the sun next to every customer) and the fish we were pulling in over the sides and storing in the coolers for gutting and filleting on the way back to port.  Needless to say most of the lobsters that had been served that day were released over the side, back into the wild, (having been partially digested) by those who could not wait for the head to be unoccuppied.  There is a certain point in everyone when privacy with bodily functions is no longer an issue, and several people had found that point within themselves, that afternoon, as they " chummed " in front of and on their co-workers regardless of eithers company status.
There were maybe a dozen or so that were not bothered by the conditions.  The CEO was one of them, which by my estimation made this whole excursion his idea and everyone else jumped on board for maybe a little quality, bonding, face-time with the boss.  Those not fishing were sitting down with pained fake smiles on their faces, trying not to be the one that suggests that we go home lest they ruin this fine outing, while trying to keep their eyes on the horizon and not vomit into their fanny-pack. (yeah...we are talking 1980s here).
Per usual I had singled out the person on the boat that I could give shit to.  Today it was the CEO.  He was by far the coolest person on the charter and seemed to enjoy both that I wasn't lining up to kiss his ass, and the playful banter that with someone who didn't care who he was every other day.  We had been at it for most of the day and I had caught him off gaurd with a couple of colerful comments.  He had good-naturedly recovered in front of his subbordinates quite well, when (per usual) the first mate joined the puckered ranks and jumped to the CEO's aid as though he needed it.
"HEY KEVIN WHY DON'T YOU GO CLEAN OUT THE HEAD" he bellowed as he nudged the CEO, "AND TAKE AN EXTRA BUCKET OF WATER DOWN TO WASH THE WALLS TOO! HA HA HA!"  There were a couple of chuckles from those on board who were clearly comfortable with reminding people where their place was. Nobody else was laughing especially those who had been in the bathroom in the last hour.  I smiled and silently took a 5 gallon bucket with a rope tied to its handle, threw it overboard and pulled it back in before descending to the hold.  I had tidied up the head approximately an hour earlier so was unprepared for what I was going to witness upon opening the door. It was the most horrifying scene I had ever witnessed.  In the past hour that particular 12 square feet of boat had been baptised over every square inch with close to every possible bodily fluid.  I fought my gag reflex as I surveyed what looked like a septic tank explosion and tried to decide how to begin.  Gloves, mop, more water, to wash down walls, ceiling(?), floor, then unclog the head.  I threw up in my mouth.
I donned the elbow-length rubber gloves and with several buckets of water and the mop, washed down all of the areas surrounding the toilet which I could do without actually entering the space.  When I finally decided to enter (which took a while even though I was already covered from the neck down with fish scales and clam parts) I brought a fresh bucket of water to pour into the marine pump-toilet to get it unclogged.  It was filled with a sewage collage, the sight of which made me almost add to it. The symphony of bodily fluids/solids and paper products (bloody and shitty) that occupied that bowl was something out of a sewage workers nightmare.  I poured some water into the almost overflowing bowl and gave the handle a couple dozen pumps to try to get the contents to evacuate into the tank below...to no avail.  I couldn't make the bowl  flush no matter what I did short of reach my hands in, which is where I drew the line... gloved or not.  The humiliation of dealing with the smug little prick upstairs wasn't even enough of a motivator to take that plunge into a dozen peoples' voluntary and involuntary bodily expulsions.I put my proverbial tail between my legs and climbed the stairs to the main deck to admit defeat to my nepoleonic boss.
He was in the middle of telling an embarrassing story about me from earlier in the season involving 10' swells, a bad tequilla hangover and a bucket of rotten sea clams that he had left in the sun the day before, to a group of guys that were still on their feet, the CEO among them.  As I approached he was acting out the punchline of the story by holding a bucket, pretending to open it, making a horrible face, and then fake vomiting into the bucket.  The group all burst out laughing at my expense as I drew near to inform their master story-teller that I had failed in my attempts to clean out the clogged shitter.
"GREAT" he bellowed with an over-dramatic stage-voice to make sure everybody on the boat heard.  "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TEACH YOU TO FLUSH THE TOILET ?!?!?!?" he orated while giving grinning sideways glances to his newfound successfull buddies.  "I'M NOT GONNA SHOW YOU HOW TO WIPE YOUR ASS TOO!!!  C'MON GET SOME WATER !!! JESUS!  I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!! C'MON LETS MOVE IT SAVLEN!!"  As he descended the stairs the volume of his voice increased with each step to make sure his attentive audience could still hear the dressing down I was about to receive. "C'MON MOVE YOUR ASS I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY" he continued grabbing the bucket of water out of my hand.  "YOU HAVE TO POUR THE WATER IN THE BOWL" here his condescension vanished for a second as he caught a glimpse of the contents already occupying the bowl.  There was a quick gasp and almost a gag before he snapped to and remembered his performance.  "THEN YOU GOTTA REALLY USE SOME MUSCLE SAVLEN AND PUMP IT HARD!!  SOMETIMES IT GETS CLOGGED THEN YOU REALLY GOTTA PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT AND PUMP!!  He grabbed the handle and began to pump as vigorously as his drama led him to believe was necessary.

It was as if time slowed at that moment to allow me to fully absorb what I was witnessing.  He was looking at me to his left and grinnging during this whole performance while pumping authoritatively with his right arm. "YOU GOTTA HOLD ON TIGHT AND GIVE IT A GOOD PUMPIN!! YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THAT RIGHT SAVLEN?!?!?!?  MAYBE YOUR JUST NOT OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT A GOOD PUMPIN IS LIKE!!!"  Thats when we broke eye contactand he turned to peek if his furious intention had yielded any effect.  He was still mouthing the word "like" and  with his overemphasized enunciation if the word he turned and pumped on the downstroke at the same time.
That is when it happened. My life changed in that one milisecond that plays out in my mind over and over again.  The inner turmoil/anger from busting my ass while having to listen to this hard-on all day immediately evaporated as the laws of physics took over and the magnificence of instant-karma was presented to me.  SOMETHING...to this day I cannot say for sure what, finally gave.  The fruit of his efforts dislodged from the bubbling fecal stew and started its fatefull trajectory, thranscending space, time, and a myriad of other unsavory obstacles, to make its seemingly pre-destined journey out of the bowl.

It was kinda beige and about the size of my thumb.

To butcher a basketball saying: "IT WAS NOTHIN BUT UVULA"

His eyes widened as his last word was cut short by the "something"  in the back of his throat now blocking his airway.  His hands went to his throat as the dawning of what had happened produced the mose grotesque facial expression imaginable and he started projectile vomiting.
All I could think as overwhelming spasms of uncontrollable laughter wracked my body and I fell to the floor was " I'm glad I don't have to do the Heimlich maneuver because he'd have to wait a while". 

I did what most men do when faced with similar situations.  I grabbed my dick and let the all-consuming wave of hilarity incapacitate me for the next five minutes until I couldn't breath and tears were shooting out of my eyes...as he painted the freshly cleaned walls of the head with his breakfast and perhaps a little of someone elses.

Eventually I heard the loudspeaker.  While the sharp bark of the captains voice made my laughter almost subside, the dry-heaving made it continue.  He had long since evacuated everything including probably yesterdays meals and was now wretching from just the pure disgust of it all.  I couldn't say that I blamed him, but from where I was laying on the deck it was still just fucking hilarious.

"COULD I GET ONE OF MY MATES UP HERE NOW!!??"  the amplified captains voice boomed through the speaker.  I guessed that meant me because the other mate had a freshly soiled head to clean. Wiping the tears and drool from my face with a wet rag, I mustered just enough control to pull myself up the stairs to a mixture of confused faces staring at me.  The ones closest probably had the unfortunate positioning to have auditorily witnessed the entire proceedings.  Their faces while seemingly sharing in the sheer humor of it all, winced a little while mine would light up every time we would hear another heave, reminding them of their own recently discovered tender constitution.  Still clutching my stomache ( I had done the bladder-control check at the bottom of the stairs and got the "OK" to release myself so that I could navigate the stairs) I made my way as quickly across the 18' beam as any person still feeling the after-shocks of such an emotional onslaught could in 6' swells.  It was apparent by the time I had got to the captain that he had guessed the whole story.  In his, I saw a face that must have mirrored my own, with a smile that widened every time we heard the clearly audible sounds of his son calling dinosaurs down below.
 I merely had to fill in the details to the now gathering crowd, which took more control than I could muster at some points. Everyone (sick and not) now wanted to know how the "scene" had played out.  After a couple of minutes of laughter while newcomers were filled in to the story, the captain took control of the situation as good captains do.  He hushed the crowd for a moment and beckoned us all to listen with a hand-to-ear gesture.  We could'nt hear a thing. Then he flipped on the loudspeaker again and spoke into the mic.  "HEY IF YOUR DONE EATING OTHER PEOPLES' LUNCH DOWN THERE, YOU WANT TO FINISH CLEANING UP THE HEAD AND HELP US OUT TOPSIDE?!?!?"  The response was an immediate one.  I mean so immediate that it was heard even before the peals of laughter broke out from the passengers over the captains comment.  The response was in the form of a sound that one would imagine could be heard when witnessing someone trying to pass their own rectum, ...orally.

The rest of the day went comparatively smooth considering for the rest of the day I had to do both of our jobs as the first mate was curled up in a groaning fetal position in the foreward hold.  The morale of the boat was boosted as the swells subsided to a generally more agreeable 3'.  Most on board had recovered from their own bouts of sea-sickness and all of them now had a story to joke about now and at the water-cooler next week regardless of how may fish we caught the rest of the day.  The tips flowed generously in my direction from both passengers that appreciated that I did 2 mates' work and from those who just enjoyed the show.  The CEO's plan of a comradery-building, out-of-office gathering turned out to be a fantastic success which he expressed to me by including me in a series of laughing, on-the-dock, posing with the catch, photos and $300 expertly placed into my hand (with eye contact) and the words "This is for you, you earned it."