When a story goes viral, there’s usually something painfully relatable about it. A nugget of truth, if you will.

When we see a guy running from a terror attack with a full pint in hand or a dad being embarrassed on live TV by his swaggering kid or a woman pissing herself over a Chewbacca mask, we see some part of ourselves. And so it was, when I came into work this morning and saw this: the story of an anonymous Bristol woman dislodged from a date’s window by firefighters after surreptitiously chasing a mound of her own poo.

Why did she do this? Why was the poo there? Don’t pretend like you don’t know. The story is one step away from an urban legend you probably heard in high school, and a few (important) steps off something that’s probably happened in your own life since.

This woman is every woman who’s ever sat awkwardly around dudes jokingly talking about how chicks don’t poop. She’s every one of us who’s ever held in a full day of farts, just to accidentally have a particularly heinous one let slip in front of a new partner. She is every kid who’s spent a week-long school camp totally constipated and then shit themselves in mum’s car on the way home. She is a modern Greek tragedy and she deserves respect.

And, like all classic tragedies, her tale comes with a moral. By re-tracing her steps, questioning them and analysing, we can learn. We can learn how to never, ever, ever find ourselves in this situation.

To Poo Or Not To Poo?

I mean, a lot of trouble could have been avoided right here. There have literally been books written on the topic of pooping on dates and frankly, any shit you need CliffsNotes for is a shit not worth taking.

But let’s give the girl some credit. She had eaten Nando’s for dinner on what would have probably been a nervy stomach and, according to her date’s report, she was one hour into Louis Theroux’s scientology documentary (weird choice for a date, but ok). That is a tactical poop if I’ve ever heard one.

My Scientology Movie is one hour and 39 minutes long, which means she had allotted for around 35 minutes of movie and wine post-poo before potentially getting it on (assuming they waited until the end of the movie). Even if she could hold it through the movie, who wants to hold in a poo during sex? Even if she was ok with feeling like crapping during sex, what if she was looking forward to some uninhibited butt stuff? No shame in keeping your options open. Respect.

To Throw The Poo Or Not Throw The Poo?

Now this is truly a dilemma.

You're on a first date, how many flushes before you throw the poo out a window?

— Rob Stott (@Rob_Stott) September 5, 2017

In her date’s report of the evening (which she both knew about and approved of), he relays that the poo would not flush. “It would not flush,” she reportedly told him. “I don’t know why I did this, but I panicked. I reached into the toilet bowl, wrapped it in tissue paper, and threw it out of the window”.

It’s a bold move, but it’s worth first acknowledging and understanding the state of mind someone must be in before tactically wrapping toilet paper around their hand (what’s the ply count, how many loops will suffice?), slowly reaching into a toilet bowl, handling their warm faeces, and slinging it out a window.

This is surely a person who’s already tried a minimum of four flushes (but how close was the bathroom to her date? Was he in listening distance? At a certain flush count, you’re just announcing how big your poo was). This is surely a person who’s looked for a plunger, a toilet brush, anything toilet related to break up the mass. This is surely a person who has come up wanting. This is a person who’s stood, panic-sweating above their own waste, Googling what to do.

Once you’ve made the decision to manually handle the poo, there are also subsequent decisions about where to put it. Would a bathroom bin suffice? It depends on the circumstances. Was the bin lined with a plastic bag? Did her date live with women who actually use the bin for sanitary products and thus make a point of emptying it? If not, there’s a chance the poo could just sit there, festering, only to be found days, weeks, months down the track. Is this a household that would have appreciated the mystery? Are they smart enough to have solved it when you’re long gone?

Failing that, could she have carried it out to find a new home? Maybe she could have tucked it in her palm like a covert tampon and shoved it deep in a full kitchen bin? Could she have said she left something in the car and made a trip outside? Was there time to dig a small hole? How much time had she already wasted with the flushing?

There are many questions to answer in a short amount of time and frankly, the window could have worked out ok if she’d looked at the design of the thing first. She could have done recon on her way out, dumped it in a bush or a neighbour’s bin, job done. She wouldn’t be the first to try it.

If only life were so simple.

To Tell The Date Or Not Tell The Date?

While it would usually be a bold move to ask your Tinder date to aid you in a rescue mission for some misplaced poo, I admit she was truly limited by her circumstance in this case. Once the poo was stuck, she had just three options:

1. Tell him.

2. Exit the bathroom, make an excuse to leave quickly, never speak to him ever again.

3. Break the window. Smash that motherfucker open. But it couldn’t just be the one closest to her. It would have to be both that and the window to the outside, in quick succession. There’s a chance of the date busting in either way, alerted to something going wrong. But if you do both at once, you maximise the time you’ll need to dispense of the poo properly once the outside world is within reach.

Do you drop it on the grass, leaving yourself open to him finding it when cleaning glass from the site? Is there time to jump out, find a good hiding place and return? Do you javelin that shit Night King-style? There are frankly too many variables. I don’t have a good answer and I’ve had a lot more time to think about it than a nervous woman watching her faeces slowly fall apart in some gross dude’s windowsill.

To Climb Into The Window Or Not Climb Into The Window

Mate, don’t climb into the window.

The hard parts had been done. At the height of her panic, she grabbed her own turd. She assessed the situation and chose the window as the best option for its disposal. She felt her gut drop to a new low as the poo sat in the sill. She owned up to it, she spilled the whole thing to her unsuspecting date who seemed to take it in good nature. He was on his way back to the bathroom with a hammer and chisel to smash the window and be done with it.

Then she decided to get in. She hoisted herself up and stuffed her body, head first, into a near stranger’s grotty glass bathroom case only to trap herself, peering out at her date’s face. Could she distinguish laughter from horror through that frosted glass? Could she feel her panicked breath bounce back at her? Did it.. still smell like poo?

I do not endorse this decision, but I admire her conviction. She could have walked out on both him and the poo, moved on with her life. But she didn’t. Nevertheless, she persisted.

This is the face of a legend who scored a second date.

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Meg Watson is the Editor of Junkee. She tweets at @msmegwatson.