This true yet horrifying story is dedicated to my brother-in-law Rich, who encouraged me to share my experience in an effort to prevent others from having a similar one. Or, maybe he just thinks it’s funny…

I live on the Lancaster side of the mighty Susquehanna River.  Dave’s Hot Chicken lives on the York side, about 30 miles from my house.  

I love hot chicken sandwiches and even keep a running tally of whose is the best in our area.  I have it sorted into categories; fast food, food trucks, restaurants, etc.   Yeah- I’m into it!

But I never had Dave’s Hot Chicken because the only time I ever happened to drive by the place was late at night, on the way home from a gig on the York side of the river.  But they have a cool, fun-looking sign and logo, so I had it in my head to give them a try some day.

Well, that day came on October 30, 2024, just days before the U.S. Presidential election between Donald Trump and Kamala Harris. The political situation is important, because the election inspired my favorite podcasters to do a short tour of live shows leading up to the big day.  In turn, Katy Kay & Anthony (Mooch) Scaramucci, the podcast hosts, inspired me to go see them live on their tour when they hit Washington, D.C. The best way to get to DC from my house is to go across the river and over to York, almost right past Dave’s Hot Chicken.

So I bought my tickets to see Katy & Mooch and cleared my schedule for the day.  I planned to leave early enough to finally stop by Dave’s Hot Chicken and enjoy a sandwich before heading south to DC for the show.

So that’s what I did. A “hot chicken lover’s dream come true” of sorts. 

Dave has several levels of heat and spice on the menu, but I kept it chill, going mid level.  The food had sort of an unusual spice flavoring to it, but it wasn’t bad at all.  I didn’t like it enough to unseat my fast food hot chicken champ, but I did like it enough to decide to try harder to get there again the next time I came through the area.  

Mission accomplished.  End of story?

Not quite.

A few hours passed by as I made the 2-3 hour drive from York to DC during rush hour, fought through the city traffic, and parked across the street from the theater.  Even so, I was uncharacteristically early, and decided to take a walk down to the National Mall, about 1.5 miles away.

It was a very hot day for October (close to 90 degrees) but the early evening sky was lit all the way up with pinks and oranges; a great backdrop for the impressive buildings the city is famous for.  I hung out for a bit and shot photos on my phone.

When the time came, I started walking back to the theater. And that’s when things got…heated.

The slight twinge in my lower abdomen let me know that I would probably need to use the bathroom once I walked the remaining mile back to the venue.

Half a mile later, I was getting concerned. The twitch had grown into something that felt like a hand grasping at my innards. I’m a fairly fast walker, but I stepped up the pace a good bit.

With a quarter mile to go, I was worried enough to see if any of the shops and cafes I was passing had a bathroom I could sneak into.  Of course they didn’t.

By the time I approached the theater I was in trouble. Big trouble.  My entire mid-section was convulsing involuntarily.  I felt some gas-like urges, but was afraid to let them out in case it……wasn’t gas.

I was very hot all over and embarrassingly sweaty. But I knew it wasn’t because of the air temperature.

All I had to do was to walk down the outside wall of the theater, turn the corner, go inside, and find a bathroom.

But I couldn’t do it.

All I could do was lean against that wall, doubled over in serious discomfort, squeezing my “personal waste portal” closed with all the strength I could muster.  I was sure some juice was going to squirt through. 

Complete disaster seemed unavoidably imminent.

I started planning the aftermath.  I would miss the show, do the walk of shame across the street to my car, discard my ruined pants (and probably shoes too) as litter, cover my loins with the blanket we always keep in the car, and drive 3 hours home hoping that no incident would cause me to have to stop the car and get out for any reason. The next day I would wash the car thoroughly on the inside, and go buy new clothes and shoes.

The cramp had mercy for a second and I stood upright.  This was my chance to get to the car, but what good would that really do?  My best shot was to get into the theater and find a bathroom.

I took a chance, speed walking alongside the wall and around the corner where I was shocked to see absolutely nobody standing in line at security!  They checked me for weapons as my body started to remind me that we weren’t done yet.

I sailed into the theater and saw the best sight of the night, immediately inside the lobby. The sign on the door said “Family Restroom.”

I ran over before somebody else beat me to it, making it just as another massive cramp hit me.  

The next several minutes are better left undescribed, except to say that I felt very relieved for myself, but very sorry for whoever had to breath that bathroom air after I left. 

I headed down the hall and into the house, found a seat, and enjoyed a very informative and entertaining show of “The Rest Is Politics US- Live”.  Then I drove home incident free.

A few nights later, I was playing trumpet on a gig with the Funktion band.  Our trombone player is a fellow hot chicken lover, so at soundcheck, I mentioned that I finally got to Dave’s a few days ago.  The conversation went something like this:

“Hey- I finally got to Dave’s Hot Chicken this week.”

“Really?  What did you think”

“It was good…”

“Yeah?  What about later?”

😱

Hey- don’t forget to read this fine print…OR……I hate self promotion but here’s some anyway….

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