Friday, August 10, 2007

Indoor Plumbing

I like to think it's a truism that there are certain equalizers in society. Things like bowling and karaoke. Seeing a gorgeous (but snooty) girl with a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Assholes with food stuck in their teeth. We all have our good and bad days, talents and lack thereof.

Along these lines, it's probably fair to say that someday, somewhere, we will all be at work and find that we have to take a poo. My friend thatgirlkelly and I have had numerous talks on this topic, mostly because she is extremely fearful of this activity. Fearful to the point that she will leave our building and go into the neighboring building where she knows there is a room with:

a) a fan to whisk away offending odors as well as any noises
b) only one crapper so she can lock the door and not have to sit next to anyone

A couple of months ago Bust magazine had an entire article devoted to the subject of dropping a deuce at work. The basic thrust of the article was that we all just need to get over ourselves, accept that sooner or later we all do it, and get a move on. Hah? Get it? Bowel movement?

Ahem.

I have a fairly healthy relationship with my movements as The Gobi can tell you. We frequently discussed the size, shape, and consistency of our poos, and he even once called me from work and described with immense glee how he filled an industrial sized bowl with one long poo. Even better? From what I remember it was a no-wiper, which I'm sure you all know is a highly coveted poo.

But still. But still. When I'm at work I usually try to find a secluded bathroom or at least wait until the coast is clear before I go.

I think it's also fair to say that we will all have a co-worker or two who we don't dislike by any means, and yet we can't really say we like them either. They're just not our cup of tea. They were possibly--ok, most likely--a sorority girl in college, don't have a great sense of humor, they talk endlessly about boring, mind-numbing things, and may even have a nasally voice. We'll call her Jen*.

Let's say we walk into the bathroom to do our business, and there is Jen, just washing her hands and apparently finishing up. Perfect timing, yes? We say hi and go in the stall, waiting for her to leave.

We take our time, put down the little paper donut, and generally rattle things around a bit so it's not totally obvious we're just sitting there, waiting for her to go. And she's still talking. Oh my God.

She is telling me about her weekend, her kids, her allergies, and how her contacts are bothering her, and she is standing right. outside. the. door.

So you know what? Bombs away, my friends. Bombs away.

She left in a hurry after that, and I am proud to say I am pretty damn sure that I wasn't the one who was embarassed. Thanks, Bust.

*not her real name. Or maybe it is.

Labels:

1 Comments:

Blogger Miss Imperial said...

I always take an eternity in situations like this, so I avoid the one-stall bathrooms because it's even more embarrassing for me to make anyone wait...BECAUSE THEN THEY WILL KNOW. (No-wipers are so rare!)

Our office bathroom has four stalls so at any given moment it's possible that you're not the only one pulling a No.2. It's a lovely set-up, actually, and no one has to wait.

Also, The Gobi is STILL immensely gleeful about his poo. I think it's his goal to break our toilet.

1:50 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home