Amy Wallen Will Give You Crickets

When she finished, I went to grab a glass of wine. I talked a young guy into opening up the champagne. He looked at the bottle for a second, and I said, “Do you know how to open it?” He smiled and said, “Of course. I’m Irish.”

I talked to the woman who wrote the bathroom story, telling her it was the best of the evening. I asked her how hard it was to edit it down to three minutes. She told me an interesting story about the editing process and how Playgirl bought a story from her but edited out the part in which the woman has an orgasm.

After finishing my glass of champagne and hearing a few more stories, I ran home and got my Pete Maravich book. Because so many people had stories to read, I had plenty of time. When I returned, I handed the book to Simon, and as he thanked me and started to talk basketball, I overheard a woman onstage talking about finding a locust shell on a plum tree.

I left the church wondering where these talented writers come up with such interesting short stories.

Share / Tools

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google+
  • AddThis
  • Email

More from SDReader


If you can keep a basketball spinning on your finger for a full three minutes I hope you get nominated to the Globetrotters. Do they even exist any longer? Thanks Josh! This is great.

I hope folks will come out to read/listen/balk at DimeStories this Friday, Dec 4th 7pm at The Ruby Room in Hillcrest. It's not a birthday party, so no cake, but our regular monthly prose open mic. And, we have started Audience Choice Awards, so when someone like Beth reads her hilarious bathroom piece you, Josh, can vote for her recorded piece to be posted on the website, and maybe it will even make it to podcast on iTunes or be selected as one of the public radio pieces. We record every event! Check out the website, find us on Facebook, Twitter, and in person.

Greetings from the infamous "woman who wrote the bathroom story," otherwise known as Beth Ziesenis. Thanks for the compliment, Josh. :) Glad I ran into you at the event, and hope to see you at others.

Amy, it's really not that hard to spin a ball on your finger. But, after a minute, it starts to slow down. And, you have to slap it a few times with your other hand, to get it going faster. I just didn't want to take anything away from Simons piece. And I thought it would look bizarre, me standing there doing that (especially since I'm most comfortable doing it with my middle finger). And yes, the Trotters are still around. They come to the Sports Arena at least once a year. They even have a few women players now.

Beth, you are an amazing writer. I'm sorry I didn't put a segment of your story in my write-up. I'm looking at 1,000 word count on this, and just didn't have the room.

Would you be so kind as to put it up here? Log back on, and put your story (it might take two or three posts). But I'd love for people on here to be able to read it.

I hope someday I'm half the writer you are. Your stuff is great.

Wow, Josh. With compliments like that, I'll even reenact it for you. (Not really.)

The Best Laid Plans of a Professional Meeting Planner The toughest part of putting on a convention for 5,000 is not the 15-hour days that start before 5 a.m. or the angry exhibitors, lost packages or empty coffee urns during the morning rush.

No… the toughest problem I encounter during a 5-day conference is finding a private place for a bowel movement.

At the last event, I scout out the perfect remote bathroom. As soon as the keynote speaker starts, I slip away. Soon I am dedicated to my important task.

And then the door opens. “Beth, are you in here?” KATE! Kate is my arch enemy. She revels in causing me pain at work. And she has found me at a most vulnerable moment.

“Hey, Kate. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Kate enters a stall. “Can we meet about my speaker luncheon?” she asks as she unzips.

I’m at critical juncture. I shift on the seat, hoping for a sneaky hiss instead of a humiliating blurt. No luck. “Um, sure. Half an hour? In the staff office?”

She answers, “I have time now. I’ll walk back with you.” What? She is waiting for me here in the bathroom? Part of the women’s code is that we quietly excuse ourselves when one needs privacy, just like we “spare a square” under the stall when we run out of paper.

I struggle to find some inner fortitude that will stop this bowel movement. I clench. I grimace. I pucker. Kate, of course, is taking a polite, professional pee, releasing an efficient, melodic stream and tearing off an eco-friendly, modest toilet paper ration. I’m making noises and emitting smells that would keep the audience in a Will Farrell movie in stitches. My bowels are unstoppable, the culmination of unrelenting stress, late nights and 3 bags of Flaming Hot Cheetos. There is plopping and splashback. And oh yes, there is odor.

I can’t stop it, so I try to disguise it. I shuffle. I cough. I rattle the toilet paper roll. “Why don’t you head over to the staff office and grab the menu from my desk?” I plead.

Kate is finished, washing her hands. “I’ll wait for you – no problem.” Kate’s enjoying the fact that she’s breaking the code. I picture her leaning against the vanity, practicing the perfect knowing smile. Bitch.



With one last humiliating rumble, toot and splash, I am thankfully done. I stand quickly and dodge my body from side to side to set off the automatic flush. Two-thirds of the evidence whooshes – more humiliation with the 2-flusher. I think I hear Kate chortle.

I exit the stall, wash my hands and try to hide my scarlet face. She smiles and smirks simultaneously. I couldn’t hate this woman more.

We walk together in silence, and I pause at the door to let her go first. As she passes, I see her well-ironed white skirt. She has a spot in a horrible place, a most embarrassing revelation that she is female. According to the women’s code, I’m supposed to whisper this critical fact to Kate. I open my mouth to let her know, then stop. She breaks the code; I break the code. Now we’re even. I effortlessly mimic her smirk and start our meeting.

Or you can go to the DimeStories website and hear Beth's recorded reading of the piece from the birthday party.

<p> Home page right hand column in all her glory!

Josh, you taking me way too seriously. I know how a ball is twirled on one's finger. I was giving it a three-minute pun. I was joshing you.

I am still laughing at Beth's story. I have to go to one of their events. Sounds like alot of fun.

If I had been in Beth's shoes in that stall, I would have SOMEHOW held it in. It would have taken a super-human effort, and perhaps I would have exploded, but, trust me, I would have succeeded. And as for the treatment of her tormenter, Beth absolutely positively did the right thing! I'm sure her only regret was not being able to see Kate's reaction when she discovered the spot on her skirt! Aaaaah, the sweet "smell" of success!

OMG Avenuez you are awesome. that was so great. the reader should pay you to write. i am your new biggest fan. no pun intended. ;)

Sometimes trying to be a "lady" doesn't pay. You should have approached this like the average guy. First warn her that you're about to put a hole in the ozone layer, and she probably doesn't want to be around for it. If that doesn't do it, challenge her to a "most-vomit-inducing-noise" contest.

i mean BETH!!!!!!!!!!!! (My middle name, how could i switch your name like that?!)

That was perfect! Great story, Beth.

As great as Beths story was to read, imagine how funny it was hearing her read it, emphasizing just the right parts; the facial was an awesome experience.

i just listened to it. this may be my favorite blog yet. :)

My friend told me I HAD to read these comments, specifically Beth's story. She KNOWS first hand, that I would've handled this pretty much the way Ricky suggested. I am not the woman who can hold her guano until the time and place are just perfect. I'm certainly not proud of this. I feel a twinge even typing now, because of those nitwits in my past who've suggested a 'real lady' would never pass a poo anywhere under any circumstances. (I recall my cousin telling me in disgust of the first time her boyfriend slept over her house. "And he took a crap in my bathroom!!" Uh, did you want him to go fertilize your garden instead?)

So, you BET I warn my pals (even my cousin) with a quick, "Sorry, but you don't want to go in there right now."

Women can be sooo catty, but this may be the worst. I couldn't do that to another woman if I TRIED. I have no desire to, either. !?!

This sort of reminds me of the people who pound on your walls or door when you're having obviously great sex.
Really, who in this situation is the idiot?

This was a great chuckle. I'm imagining Margaret Cho telling this story in concert. Whee! I'm glad to learn I'm not the only chick who occasionally sinks a shiznit!

(I recall my cousin telling me in disgust of the first time her boyfriend slept over her house. "And he took a crap in my bathroom!!" Uh, did you want him to go fertilize your garden instead?)

Heh heh heh! The first thing I tell any of my lovers is that I'm human. I s***. I fart. I burp. I stink. It's only human if they are too. I'm always farting in my GF's general direction. She farts in mine now too! :-D

The pull-my-finger while perusing potato chips in Ralph's is the best though.

My mother is completely mortified about this story. She won't even let me say the word "f*rt." Not kidding. I'm 41.

Well Z, my mom didn't care for that word. And neither do I. I think it's gross, and it's rarely funny. What I'd tell your mom is...where Beavis & Butthead would giggle and say those words, you are just cleverly telling a story, that is probably exaggerated for humorous punch (much the way David Sedaris makes up half of what he writes -- but we love it anyway).

Josh - Thanks for supporting Dime Stories, great article! I'm also glad you enjoyed "Buick, baby" i.e. Satan's crotch. I had fun writing/reliving it. Best, Jocelyn

Joycelyn, The Buick story was great.

I did feel bad I didn't stay to the very end, because I understand Amy read her story near the end. I would've liked to have heard it. I once heard her read a short story about a child that found a finger and brought it to a science fair. It was outstanding.

Although, one thing I did find odd about it all.

Sometimes she would try to "one up" the people that did their stories. Maybe when you're hosting an event, you feel that you have to give the crowd "something" every time you go to the mic.

I'm with you Josh. I, too, have left that DimeStories event before all the readers were finished. It is excruicatingly painful. For every one decent story read by a writer, there appear to be fifteen that blow with a capital B.

If I ever get cancer and have only one month left to live, I'll attend another DimeStories event, because I'm virtually guaranteed that each new 3 minutes will feel like an eternity.

DimeStories is a place for people who like to hear themselves read, not for people who like good writing!

I disagree, Rabbit. I've seen these DimeStories three times, and always enjoyed the stories. Sure, one or two might not be great, but 80% of them are.

And, to say that it's people that like to hear themselves read...well, using that logic..what do you think of people singing? Are they singing just to hear the sound of their voice? Especially at karaoke. Why do I need to hear some woman sing Crazy or Endless Love? Just to be impressed with their voice? With their rendition?

People do these things because they enjoy them. And people enjoy hearing them.

And there's something interesting about telling people to write a 3 minute story, and having them share it with the group.

ReaderRabbit, I love to go to the readings, even if I have nothing to read. Sure, not every piece tickles my fancy, but they always have wine and cheese, and frequently chocolate -- I'll endure almost anything if chocolate is involved. And I can give any writer who's brave enough to read in front of dozens of strangers the courtesy of 3 minutes of my attention. I'm frequently rewarded with some of the best prose I come across these days, read by some of San Diego's most amusing/engrossing readers. I'd say that's a great way to spend a Friday night.

You might try attending a DimeStories showcase -- I think they're once a quarter now. These stories are hand selected, the best of the best. If I remember correctly, you have to sneak in your own chocolate. But still.


I remember back in the day (early '90s) that there was only one open mic in San Diego county (disclaimer: that I knew of). I went to a few, which was no small feat, given that I lived in Vista, and it was somewhere downtown and didn't let out until around 10:00 pm. It's not just hearing the sound of your own voice; it's actually quite cathartic. Reading what you've hopefully put your heart and soul into, putting it out there into the public space, risking having that child you've given birth to meeting with apathy - or beaten with sticks - can be liberating, in an AA 5th step kind of way. Just the act of getting up in front of an audience, more frightening than combat for some of us, facing possible embarrassment and/or rejection, once done, can be a kind of freedom.

Log in to comment

Skip Ad

SD Reader Newsletters

Join our newsletter list and enter to win a $25 gift card to The Broken Yolk Cafe!

Each subscription means another chance to win!