It was just another Wednesday. I sat at my desk all day long crushing spreadsheets, bombing emails, and just generally doing my thing. All I had to do was make it through the day and then I was meeting my mom for dinner. I hightailed it out of the office as soon as I could and headed straight to one of our favorite spots to eat. I headed inside early to soak up some air conditioning and just relax.
It wasn’t long before everything I had put in my stomach that day decided it wanted out. The chicken biscuit and hash browns were coming. The leftovers from lunch were ready. The two donuts I grabbed from the break room were on top. There were three cups of rich black coffee fueling it all. I was doomed.
I made a bee-line straight for the bathroom faster than Von Miller got to Tom Brady in last year’s AFC Championship. I weaved through the tables and waiters like Dale (RIP) back at Daytona in 1998. I tucked my head and plowed through the door and dove into the last stall. About 20 seconds later and I was finally feeling relieved.
Once all the adrenaline and stress started to fade away, I looked up from my phone and took a minute to take in my surroundings. “Wow, this bathroom smells really nice,” I thought to myself. I returned back to Candy Crush and continued about my business. Am I the only person that zones out in the bathroom, not even realizing how long I’ve been sitting there until my legs are asleep and the automatic lights turn off? I was just crushing some candies in a trance before I heard what sounded like two females communicating.
“Ugh can you believe this?! I literally just bought this top like last week and now I’ve got frickin’ wine all over it!”
“What are you talking about? You borrowed that from Jessica!”
“OMG you’re right, don’t tell her! Hopefully I can get everything out! Let’s take a silly mirror selfie for Snapchat while we’re in here.”
My life flashed before my eyes. My mission had been compromised. Why were these girls in the bathroom? There’s no way I went in the women’s bathroom. I saw the man on the door upon entrance. Wait. No I didn’t. I was too busy rushing in here that I paid zero attention. Am I really shitting in the women’s bathroom? Out of nowhere, another earthquake erupted out of my rectum and I froze like a deer in the headlights.
“Ew did you hear that? Let’s get out of here.”
I had to escape immediately, but I also had to do so unseen. I did a quick peek under my stall door to see if I saw any other feet. Nope, we were good to go. I got up and got ready to run. I realized there were no urinals and I was in fact in the wrong bathroom. I bolted for the door, but realized if I came bolting out, I risked being caught coming out. I also hadn’t washed my hands. For some reason I thought the best idea was to sprint across to the men’s bathroom and wash up, then come out like nothing ever happened. I made it successfully to my true home of a bathroom and washed my hands. I gave myself a little pep talk in the mirror and calmly walked back out, expecting the worst. There was no paparazzi, no public shaming, just one waiter hiding behind a wall texting someone on his phone. I gave him a quick head nod and returned back to my table.
When I got back to my table, I just ducked my head and stared at my phone. I did not want to be identified. I felt so much shame and humiliation. Nobody wants to be the dude that shits in the women’s bathroom..
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