1989: In elementary school, first or second grade. I remember having to clean up in a toilet stall with no door.

1995: Aboard a 12-hour flight from Taipei to San Francisco, sometime in the middle of it.

2003: While rushing toward the washroom of a Subway restaurant in rural eastern Ontario.

2005: Unexpectedly while peeing in the washroom of the IKEA in Schaumburg, IL.

2012: On 14th Street between 6th and 7th Avenue in Manhattan, 175 feet from where I was staying.

2023: On a residential street in Pasadena, CA while running. I had pooped beforehand to prevent such an incident, but my guts ambushed me when the nearest public washroom was half a mile away. I had to maneuver there, and then home another mile away, in broad daylight. Fortunately, I had some paper towels (to absorb sweat) in a pocket to wipe up much of the golden brown goop oozing down my thighs and out of my shorts. All the previous times I had been wearing pants.

I have now pooped my pants in five different decades.