Potty Humor

This morning was quite amusing. I felt absolutely terrible during my hour long crawl down the freeway. No amount of water could drown the whiskey breath out of my mouth. You know what I mean. When every burp burns and you can feel each sip of water seep into the crevices of your chest.

I arrived in the lobby of my building around 9:05am. I stepped in the elevator, picked the 12^th floor, and hit the Door Close button. Just as the door began to close, I farted. This thing was pretty substantial. As the elevator door was about to close, some over-eager wench stuck her foot in the door. Many people would have panicked. On the other hand, I relish in these types of awkward situations. Not only was this stupid woman oblivious to the extent of punishment she had just gotten herself into, but she opened the floodgates to letting about seven more people get in.

The stench was so pungent, it stung the nostrils. The facial expressions on everyone’s faces went from “not excited about going to work” directly over to confused, accusative, and nauseous. Three stops were chosen before the 12^th floor, along with two after. Some poor bastard had to endure that smell for six stops. It was entertaining to see people hustle off the elevator for the three stops I got to enjoy. That made my morning.

One of my pet peeves is that my office only has one entrance/exit. That means that our secretary knows my exact shitting schedule. I go to the bathroom every day in between 10:30 and 11:00am. There is no way she doesn’t know. Why else would I be gone for almost exactly 7 minutes each day? My other offices have had back doors and different routes to getting to bathrooms so that you can conceal your bathroom tendencies. There is none of that here. Another irritating thing is that the bathroom is literally as far away from my office as possible on the 12^th floor. Naturally.

Today I got up to go to the bathroom, and coincidentally, Joe Bruin decided to go at the same time. He talked to me about random work stuff all the way to the bathroom and actually even after I was already in the stall. That was weird. I chose the handicapped stall, and he gave me a strange look about it. I always choose the handicapped stall. What the fuck? Did he want me to occupy the only other small stall right next to him instead? I thought everyone chose the handicapped stall if given the chance. Why would I make myself claustrophobic in one of the smaller ones? That just does not make sense to me. Whatever. I then pathetically attempted to cover up noises by flushing the toilet. I always employ this “trick,” but has anyone ever really been fooled? It’s weird enough working with the guy, I don’t need him knowing how much I drank the night before.

The next step is when you listen for the toilet paper roll. Whoever commits to wiping first is has then explicitly been granted the rights to leaving the bathroom first. Eye contact afterwards must be avoided at all costs, thus the second wiper has been resigned to waiting until the first wiper has exited the bathroom before opening the stall door. I waited. I believed these rules to be universally accepted, but I also thought that no talking once in the stall and jumping at the chance for the handicapped stall were unanimously accepted as well. But what do I know.