As promised, the story about the baked beans

Beans aren't a food I consume on a regular basis. In fact, prior to one fateful day in September 2010, the last time I had eaten beans in any form must have been when I was a kid and my dad, in a desperate attempt at dinner, hustled over to the Safeway and purchased two cans of Heinz Baked Beans and served it to myself and my sisters on bread. I don't remember anything spectacular happening later that night other than watching yet another awesome episode of MacGuyver.

My company is very active in the United Way. We host fundraisers. One type of fundraiser that I particularly enjoy is our annual potluck affair. One of the items on the menu that year was pulled pork with baked beans. I love pulled pork but I wasn't keen on the beans.

I was encouraged to try them. Apparently my co-worker who makes the beans knows a thing or two about southern style baked beans and they're to die for.

Oddly enough, the last part of that sentence wasn't a stretch. They were indeed delicious but what those beans did to me in the hours afterward makes me break out into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

The bloating happened first. I was at my desk and my stomach felt like a hot air balloon. Those of you who understand the science of hot air balloons also understand that the gas that goes in also has to come out. This is true of people who consume two cups of baked beans... or was it three?

In approximately 20 minutes from when the first cramp hit me, I was scheduled for a meeting with three other colleagues. The first cramp had me bowled over in agony. I got up and shut my door and prayed to the Christmas baby Jesus for relief. I had no idea how to make myself fart on command, so I did some squats. When that didn't work, I did some lunges. When that didn't work, I decided to go for a walk. Someone told me once that dogs poop faster if you walk them around the block rather than let them roam in the backyard. Seeing as "roaming" in my office wasn't helping, I went for a walk around the office.

With my ass cheeks clenched in fury, I strolled down one corridor and over to another. At the sign of the first feeling of escape, I Ben Johnson'd it back to my office and almost cried from the relief.

There was no way I was going to be able to sit through this meeting, I thought at the time. The cramping and bloating had me in so much pain, I just wanted to buy some Bean-O and go home. As luck would have it, just as I was figuring out a way to bail out of the meeting without having to disclose my bowel symptoms, I received word that the chair of the meeting couldn't make it. This allowed me to leave the office and head home.

I purchased some Bean-O at the PharmaPlus in the Path and gobbled down at least three tablets while walking the rest of the way to Union.

Once on the train - a very packed 4:53pm train - I was hit with another round of cramps. I also was sitting in a window seat. I hardly ever sit near the window. I don't know what I was thinking! I can tell you that holding in flatulence is incredibly painful. It can also make you nauseous and pale. It makes you sweaty and light-headed. It makes you pray.

Never in my life have I pressed my ass so tight into a seat. I had been pushing with so much force in an attempt to stave off you know what, that my ass, legs and thighs fell asleep by the time we reached Rouge Hill. I gripped the straps of my bags so tight, I left imprints of the embossing in my fingers. At Pickering, several people got off and at the last second, I made a decision to bolt off the train too. Well, I didn't actually bolt off the train. I did that slow, robotic walk we do when half our body is asleep.

I stood on the platform, at the very end of the platform, and made peace with the beans. When the next train showed up, I hopped on, confident I could make it to Oshawa. I hid out in the bathroom for the ride so I could have some privacy.

It took nearly until 1 am that very night for my body to return to normal. I've been told by my husband that my experience now makes me a weapon and that if I ever wanted to extol revenge on a train, all I need to do is requisition my co-worker's recipe, bake up a batch of her beans and let it rip.