Update from March 27: I didn’t poop in a bag. I was able to hold in my turd up until the last second that the construction guys finished. They left, and I made my deposit in the porcelain dropbox. It didn’t feel like I had a lot to release, but it steadily squeezed out my butt like soft serve ice cream. When I looked in the toilet an 18 inch brown snake was staring back at me. I mentally high-fived myself, and I also breathed a sigh of relief for not having to poop that behemoth in a plastic bag. I imagine that if I did have to resort to shitting in a satchel, the end of the turd would have probably grazed my thumb around the bag opening after I pinched it off. Writing that sentence just gave me the heebie jeebies. I now feel a need to wash my hands. I also won’t be able to eat ice cream for a while.