This is a story about poo. You've been warned.
My beloved readers, I have mentioned before that I enjoy the marginally clean comforts of a semi-private water closet at my place of employment. This fact brings me immeasurable and disproportionate joy in my otherwise pedestrian existence. Having a golden key to a private crapper is my version of getting invited to the party of the year at Clive Owen's house, except there's no party, no Clive, and the only decorations are some dusty fake daisies in a basket that some hopeful soul brought in years ago to give the place a "feminine" touch.
Some of you that work in adult, sanitary, modern office complexes and have things like "expense accounts" and "windows" may not understand why I would take the time to boast about such a monumentally lame thing, but if you worked where I do- a public institution of higher learning- you would get it. The "public" restroom nearest my "VIP" restroom has such a high volume of use by such a wide variety of ladyfolk that I regularly hear reports of "it was the only stall that didn't have puke in it" or "it looked like someone just threw a bag of shit at the wall". I haven't set foot in there in a long, long time, but when I imagine it in my mind, it looks like what would happen if you opened a cat food cannery inside the monkey cage at the zoo.
The private can is a small joy in my life, just shut up and let me have it, OK?
I clicked the key in the lock the other day and entered into the private, quiet, and surprisingly roomy institutional terlet that I hold so dear.
Because I share this restroom with fellow culinary personnel and other various, random staffers who have cleverly discovered that the key for this room is the same key that opens many, many doors in our building (including, but not limited to: classrooms, kitchenettes, storage closets and the tomb of the unknown janitor), I started to do what I always do before perching my bum on the elongated bowl, which is to check the seat for any abnormalities such as stray hairs or miniscule crustaceans. "Peek before you pee" is my motto. So is "No no Cheetos in the nose", but that's neither here nor there.
I approached the porcelain bus with a full bladder and a scrutinizing eye.
That's when I saw it.
The giant, so dark that I actually made note of how dark it was mass of evil sat in the bowl, perched on the little ledge looking at me, defiantly. There was no smell, no "spray", and no other visible signs that this dark matter had not just dropped from the sky into my blessed and holy space from some alien being trying to mess with my head and mess with my crapper. It sat there proudly, staring at me in that way hobos do right before they start humping my leg and grabbing for my purse. I know this look, and it scares me.
I had to make a decision as I was now in the unfortunate position of having entered the room- thereby creating the possibility that there may have been a witness to my having been present in the same vicinity as the offending object, and therefore bringing about the possibility that I may have produced the nugget of evil myself. Crap.
I decided to just flush the beast away to a better, happier place where it could roam free and be reunited with it's poopy bretheren.
So, I flushed.
I flushed again.
Fine. One more time- third time's the charm, right?
It wouldn't budge. I swear I heard it giggling, mocking my efforts.
I flushed, and flushed and flushed again. Round abouts the 14th try, I saw a crack in its facade.
It moved. Just a little.
One push of the button, one final woosh of water, and the tremendously terrifying turd broke free and slid away- saving me from possible humiliation and the probably permanent title of "Princess Poo".
I breathed a sigh of relief. Big mistake.
It hit me like a pile of roadkill in 100-degree heat. Like raw, rotten hamburger covered in fermented gym socks. Like the collective armpit stink on the last day of Woodstock.
By disturbing the poo's final resting place, I had unleashed the hounds of hell. The smell was unlike any poo before or ever shall be. It filled the 5' x 8' space so quickly and potently that I had little time to think before the stench would permeate my clothing and skin and I would have to spend the remainder of the day dealing with everyone around me sniffing suspiciously and wondering if I had a glandular problem.
Reputation be damned, I got the hell out of there as fast as I could. There was no way I would be able to spend even one more second in that foul, fetid stinkbox no matter how urgent my need to pee was. I ran out into the hall, the heavy door shutting firmly behind me.
I had escaped the poo of Lucifer and the mighty fog that accompanied it. I quickly looked around for any witnesses that would need "disposing" of later on in some sort of mafia-esque fashion involving piano wire and a cattle prod - all clear.
Knowing I couldn't face yet another scene of carnage so soon, and knowing that only months of aromatherapy and psychotherapy would erase the memories of this horrifying day, I took a sharp left and walked the past the public restroom, my bladder whimpering a little.
Nearly a block and a half later (it's a big building) I settled my bare bum onto the clean seat of the only other semi-private loo and tinkled away, relieved and happy with the memory of "The Day of the Poo" already starting to fade.
It's so weird how the smell can be awakened. Ewwww!
I know for sure now that in your last life you were a 12 year old boy.
Dear sweet jesus. A similar thing happened to me at my own public institution. Although, I'm lucky in that my office is on an upper floor of an academic building so there are no classrooms on my floor. We do share facilities with another department, one ladies, one mens and a handicapped in between that is pretty much known to be where you go to drop a deuce. I went in there once because it was closer to me than the ladies and I had to pee bad. The toilet was clogged and there was literally shit on the wall and as I tried to make my escape I was met at the door with a lady from the other department. I didn't make eye contact and said, "The toilet is clogged, I didn't do it." as I skuttled off.
This is like an action movie, albeit one no one would willingly want to sit through.
I hope you're getting hazard pay as a result.
I'm starting to notice that people who blog talk a lot about poo. Think about that....
The poo of lucifer. Nice.
(I'm serious- the word verification is clogsu)
At least no one caught you coming out and blamed the mass on you. That would have been really, really awful.
I hear if you eat more cheese, you don't have to visit the closet of doom as often.
I still have bad dreams about my highschool and junior high school bathrooms. What IS it about school bathrooms that inspire terror? What's up with the huge wad of wet papertowels thrown onto the ceiling? Or the explosions on the walls? Or the malfunctioning toilets? Ugh. I'm so glad those days are way behind me. And I really hope that those idiots who found it funny to peer over the stall and make fun of me and laugh grew up. Jerks.
I'm surprised you didn't use this post for Blog Share. There were a couple of poo posts.
This post had me shaking with silent laughter at my desk, by the way. Thanks!
Oh, and sorry you had to deal with that. :-)
While I'm always up for a good tale of poop, this was not what I expected at all.
What is it about learning institutions and poor restroom facilities? Ours is like a horror movie from the 1950's, complete with sound effects (squeaky haunted house doors) and everything. One of the biggest things I miss about my old job was the blissful private bathroom.
My word ver is "wetliola," as in "I hope you didn't wetliola in your pants running to the other bathroom."
Hahahaha. You're the limit, Whiskeymarie.
So as a parent of a child who is often, shall we say, clogged up I find that I talk about poop much more then I'd like.
But it's my kids and so you know...but this...this should have come with the
I'M ABOUT TO DISCUSS THE FILTHY HABITS OF ADULTS THAT DON'T FLUSH THEIR SHIT AND SHOULD KNOW BETTER...WARNING
on another note, you're lucky that terlit didn't overlow and that sucker didn't try and come out and chase you.
They're not for everyone, but I love a good poo story. Maybe my favorite thing about my job is my own private bathroom- I almost like it better than being at home.
Today you made my overtired cranky butt laugh.
I love you.
Have you considered posting this story on www.poopreport.com? If not, you should.
Thank you for not making this one of your photo posts.
sizzle- It's kind of like hibernating for poo- one minute it's gentle and still, the next minute...kapow!
Monkey- I'm fascinated by boogers too.
S/T- How horrifying! The only good part about my poo encounter was not having to discuss this with any coworkers.
pistols- I think you might be wrong. The "poo genre" of film making seems ripe for the picking.
Jacquie- In general, we bloggers lead very empty lives and have a lot of time to think about things like poo.
180/260- If you had smelled it, you'd call it Satan's poo too. Tee hee- pootoo.
Maurey- Unlucky that I was the one who found it, lucky that I didn't have to do the walk of shame out of the bathroom.
Chiada- I remember in High School there was one restroom that I avoided like the plague because it was dark and scary and the "bad" girls hung out there. I think I peed in there all of two times my entire time in school.
John- Cheese really is the answer to all of life's problems, isn't it?
3carn- If only I was ashamed of stories like this. If only...
GP- I can laugh about it now, but then? O.k, I laughed then too. Poo is funny.
Kim- Sorry if I've scarred you in any way by this story.
WM- I'm still giggling, thinking about getting chased around by the stinkiest poo ever. Scary.
John- I wondered if you'd have anything sexy to say about poo. Thankfully, you didn't.
Punchline- there are two kinds of people in the world- people that find poo funny, and people who don't. I'm pretty sure most of my readers find poo funny. At least I hope they do, cause otherwise they probably think I'm really gross.
Which I am.
Kate- Happy to help. Anytime.
anon- I'll blame you when I get fired for looking up that website at work, but I couldn't resist. It reminds me of ratemypoo.com, which I don't think isn't updated anymore. I probably shouldn't admit I know about things like poo websites, but whatever.
McGone- You're welcome.
We've discussed this before. YES it is and would you expect any different an answer from me?
Piano wire and a cattle prod? Interesting. And funny.
"poo of Lucifer" is the funniest thing I've read all week.
yeah... I'm liking poo of Lucifer, too.
I share a large many-stalled bathroom at a two story office building. It is cleaned daily, and still sometimes the smell will stop you in your tracks. It is amazing what some people are comfortable leaving behind. And we (ostensibly) all work together. I guess I expect a little more dignity from adults, but they constantly disappoint me. My four year old daughter is FUNNY in public bathrooms. Always making comments that I'm sure other people can hear. I don't shush her; they make me laugh. She proudly announces her poops and her farts. I say "good job."
Here i thought this post was going to be about me.
Loved every minute of it.
I love stories of poo. LMAO!
Hahahhaha Fun post!!
I have to tell you, this is the best post about shit I've ever read. You have a talent for writing about dump. I think The New York Times could use you.
I'm not sure why but the story of Goldielocks ran through my mind while I read this....
Eee-gads!! I'll bet that poo landed where it was because it's original producer "hovered" over the seat!! Blech!! Could you see wavy stink lines?! Yucky satanic turd!!
I remember going into a ladies' restroom near the baggage claim at Sea-Tac airport, and being confronted with a veritable shit-flood, a landslide of poo all over the throne and flowing into the bowl.
I backed out of the room, and, because it was so horrendous I was in shock, I actually went up to an airport employee and reported it to her, hoping that no one else would be traumatised by it.
OTOH, I am terrified that someday I will be old and infirm and uncomprehending enough that i might do the same. Please God, tell me no!
Just wanted to drop a line and let you know I wasn't trying to get rid of you saturday night, just help the other guy out so we could continue our conversation about poop. I was going to get into the intracacies of feces since I'm now potty training a small girl child and really wanted to delve into how the other half poops.
Maybe next time
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