Read: Investment banker shares his hilariously awkward private jet flight story

Image Credits: Getty Image/ianmcdonnel A financial investment banker recently

shared his amusing account of the time he was hungover on a personal jet, attempting not to sh * t his pants.The lender, who asked to remain anonymous,

shared his story on the satirical twitter page Goldman Sachs Elevator. Can you imagine being hungover , with an indigestion,traveling on a six-person puddle jumper sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with your customers and co-workers. Celeb Internet Worth Shared the terrible story, saying:”Before a business goes public, the highest level executives embark on a multi-city trip with their financial investment lenders to drum up support for the upcoming Initial Public Offering(IPO). “This trip is likewise referred to as a roadshow– and exactly what much better method to trot around with anything aside from a personal jet going to 2 to 3 cities in a limited amount of time all while partying like a rock star?And because they do party like rock stars, the executives and lenders ultimately do not get a great deal of sleep and need to take off to the next city at the

break of dawn, so no sleeping off that babelas. Here’s the banker’s humorous account on what exactly occurred on that awful flight:” Just over midway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it’s percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunch down and try and concentrate on other things

. What feels like an hour, but most likely isn’t more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter exactly what turns out to be quite violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to sh * t my trousers.’Thirty minutes to landing, perhaps forty 5 ‘I try and tell myself, each scramble a gamble I cannot manage to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me. ‘Excuse me, where is the bathroom, due to the fact that I don’t see a door?’I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what begins to seem like someone shook a seltzer bottle

and pushed it up my ass. She takes a look at me, bemused, and states,’ Well, we do not actually have one per se.’She continues,’ Technically, we have one, but it’s actually simply for emergencies. Don’t fret, we’re landing quickly anyhow.’I’m quite sure this certifies as an emergency,’I manage to murmur through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the rear seats. The turbulence exterior is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the aircraft and says,’ There. The toilet is there.’ For a short instant, relief passes over my face. She continues,’If you retreat the leather cushion from that seat, it’s under there. There’s a little personal privacy screen that brings up around it, but that’s it. ‘At this point, I was dedicated. She had actually just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the desire to weep. I do sob, however my face is so securely clenched it makes no difference. The” toilet “seat is inhabited by the CFO, i.e. our f * cking client. Our f * cking female f * cking client!Up to this point, no one has observed my struggle

or my exchange with the flight attendant.’ I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. ‘That’s all I can state as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my description. Of course, as quickly as my competitors see me speaking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I’m doing.Given my jovial nature and fun-loving mindset so far on the roadshow, practically everyone believes I’m joking. She, however, knows right now that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had actually been sitting. I now had to get rid of the seat top– no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block celebration

, and are battling versus an intestinal Mt. Vesuvius.I handle to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather elegant looking commode, with a great cherry or walnut frame. It had undoubtedly never been used, ever. Why this moment of clearness pertained to me, I do not understand. Maybe it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet’s virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate workmanship and quality. I pictured

some bad Italian carpenter weeping over the strongly soiled remains of his as soon as gorgeous development. The lament lasted only a 2nd as I was rapidly back to focusing on the small muscle that stood in between me and molten hot lava.I reach down and bring up the personal privacy screens, with only seconds to spare prior to I erupt. It’s an alka-seltzer bomb, absolutely nothing however air and liquid spraying out in all directions– a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I’m going to have a stroke, I push so tough to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.’I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’My apologies do nothing to hush the heinous sounds that seem to continue and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that’s not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The personal privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the aircraft, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my associates, competitors, and customers straight in the eyes.’Neglect that guy behind the drape!’briefly concerns mind.I actually might connect with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person nearby to me. It was virtually difficult for him, or any of the others, and by others I indicate high profile organisation partners and customers, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to continue and pretend as if absolutely nothing uncommon was taking place, that they weren’t sharing a stall with some man crapping his intestinal tracts out. Launching smelly, sweaty, pity at 100 feet per second.’I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry’is all the embarrassed disembodied head can state … over and over again. Not that it mattered.”