Crapsody in Brown, Second Movement

Okay this is just getting ridiculous. Today I’m pissing like a horse because I’m drinking everything I can get my hands on. Incidentally, have you ever seen a horse take a leak? I have, and it’s impressive. It’s like a garden hose at full blast, only the hose is full of smelly horse piss.

So one of my trips to the office potty today finds me in the company of some unknown gentleman in the handistall. I’m only here for the quick trip, so I do my thing, and start to wash up.

Something seems strange to me, because the chap on the crapper is extremely quiet. Quiet like Anne Frank-hiding-from-the-Nazis quiet. And not only is he quiet, but there’s no telltale “I’ve been here for a while and I’m basking in the afterglow” post-potty-partum odor. It’s odd. I mean, I don’t even here him tapping away at a BlackBerry, or hear the intermittent rustling of a WSJ. The air is tense.

And I know immediately what’s going on. He’s holding out. Holding out for cover. Holding out for me to give him some audio cover, or for me to leave altogether. Dude, if you have to let it fly, that’s what we’re all here for; for crise sakes don’t kill yourself, just take a sh*t already. I can’t put a face with the sound, because guess what. You’re behind a toilet partition. I mean, sure I just looked at your shoes and I saw that you have a government contractor badge on your belt so I know for sure you work in my office but it’s too far away to read or make out the photo so you’re safe. Just do it. Solid advice in all affairs – so get on with it.

But I want to test my theory at least. So I fire up the electric hand dryer. Within milliseconds, a shameless but timid crapsplosion echoes throughout the men’s room. Intrigued, I stop for a few moments, then fire up the dryer again.

And it’s like I’m conducting the most disgusting symphony ever conceived; on cue, Mr. Shittypants on the bass tuba delivers another salvo. Wanting no further part of this, I hastily dry off and make for the door.

Listen, the Romans took craps right next to each other; they didn’t even care. For them it was probably awesome and the whole family lined up and did their business. Hell, they probably talked shop the whole time and worked on their technique. All I’m saying is that society has deep roots in the whole multi-user bathroom idea, so get the hell over it and take your dump.

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