I think I had weltschmerz once. I had to drive 4 miles to get home after leaving a Mexican fast food joint, which, by the way, had not a single Mexican working there (bad juju).
I made it the first mile and pulled into a 7-11. They had a giant bathroom with no lock. They had a motion detector light switch which goes out in too short of time, and the sensor was too far away from the throne to be activated to come back on by frantic arm waving.
Not knowing when the next patron would barge in on me, nor when the light would go out, I was in a tight spot.
I did what I could, but it was clearly a rush job.
I left out of there and made it 1 mile and 17 feet before I had to stop again. There was a golf course and all I had was the cover of darkness.
I took advantage of this in a long, narrow flowerbed. I needed all of the width and most of the length.
I left out of there and barely made it the house where I was able to cast the rest of the demon which possessed my alimentary canal.
Weltschmerz seems a fitting term for this malady. Though unaware at the time of the correct spelling, I distinctly recall making a noise very similar to that word, and with the distinct and forceful urgency common to the German dialect.
My only regret about this episode was thinking about the golf course superintendent confronting the migrant groundskeeper the next morning about what happened to his flower bed. I can hear him in my nightmares, "Sanchez, get over here, and don't lie to me. It had be you. It reeks of Mexican food!"
