Wednesday, September 15, 2004

You’d think a grody bathroom would have no right to be so entertaining, gentle reader, but then you’d be wrong. I walked into our dimly lit facilities yesterday, tired after a long day of work, and I immediately heard shuffling in the furthermost stall.

“I’M GOING TO FLING MY SHIT, I SWEAR TO GOD,” said an anonymous voice.

I quickly washed my hands and dashed out the door. I didn’t want to die in a two-stall bathroom just yet–I’d prefer three stalls–because I have great things to accomplish. Once I removed myself from the blast radius, as it were, I proceeded to make sense of what happened.

Since all of my co-workers were gone by then, I concluded the voice belonged to an employee from the adjacent suite. He probably thought I was one of his buddies, which prompted the misplaced comment. Then again, I never popped open the stall to verify this, so there may be other explanations. The occupant could have been a variant of the fabled Bigfoot, poised over the can and ready to cause great rejoicing by ardent evolutionists the world over. I mean, what scientist wouldn’t drool over a creature able to combine articulate conversation with pinpoint poopery?

The moral of the story? When someone makes an embarrassing comment like the one above, the chivalrous thing to do would be to walk over, extend your hand, and shake.