My Men’s Room Standoff With The Janitor

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My Men's Room Standoff With The Janitor

Pooping is a disgusting fact of life. Pooping in an office? That shit’s a travesty.

The following story displays the lengths I will go to ensure total solitude during excretion. It also shows that I have ridiculously shy bowels. And that I’m an idiot:

It’s 11 o’clock — that glorious time of day where I get 10 minutes to myself, ass over a toilet seat, phone glued to my hand. Just me, Facebook, and my imminent bowel evacuation. Pure bliss…. Then the bathroom door opens.

Fuck! My butthole quivers in fear (I apologize for the picture that may paint). I have a notoriously shy bladder, and my colon is no different. There’s no way I can do this now. But to my relief, it’s just the janitor refilling paper towels and toilet paper. I’m safe. Just have to wait a few more minutes for him to refill everything, then I can commence to Brown Town. The handle to my stall jiggles. “Not today, bitch.” I actually snicker a little bit. I’m weird as fuck.

I hear the janitor begin to walk away, so I prep for launch. But just as I’m about to begin my countdown, I hear the guy stop. He stands about five feet outside of my stall, and actually waits for me to poop. Seriously?!!! Why?!! There’s no way I can expel this buildup of heinous gas and feces with a stranger so close. Surely he’ll leave soon.

He doesn’t.

Five minutes pass. Still there.
Seven minutes pass. Why are you doing this to me?
Eight minutes pass. Is he going to murder me?
Ten minutes pass. I’m actually contemplating asking him if he wants something to read.

It’s a good old fashioned showdown. I’m like Clint Eastwood in a Western standoff. Except instead of bullets, I’m armed with poop. And instead of a poncho, I have a button-up ever so gently tucked beneath my chin. I’m in it for the long haul. Who will blink first?

I hit the 12-minute mark and my butt says to me, “I love you, but I have to do this.” I tell him (I guess it’s a him) to hold off one more minute.

At this point my poop is like a Black Friday crowd at Walmart — large, unruly, and ready to storm an extremely small gate at a moment’s notice. I buckle down, sweat on my forehead, pain in my ass. And then…. Hell broke loose.

In about one millisecond, my entire intestine empties into the bowl with the fury of one thousand tsunamis. A smell fills the air. The janitor is surely high-fiving his imaginary friend. A tear gently streams down my face…. I lost.

As I leave the stall, I make eye contact with the man who stole my innocence. He smirks as if to say, “Not today, bitch.”

Pooping sucks.

Image via Shutterstock

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