More fun with poop

In the wake of me passing judgment on those who feel guilty for being human, I offer you this story:

Without fail, I have to take the biggest shit at 10am.

I mean, without fucking fail. Always. I'll be clicking away at my monitor, tweaking some web site or fixture, and BLAM! My colon starts twisting and bubbling, I'm bent in half. I suppose it is nice to be so regular, but I do wish my body would choose a more convenient time to expel.

It is also without fail, that at 10:02am every morning, I bustle through the office with bag and keys in hand, pasty and desperate looking, mumbling about going to the Starbucks up the street for "coffee," because I can't shit in the communal bathroom. It is my masturbational respite. I don't poop where I eat, plus, what if someone walked in? I don't think I could take it if the hot girl from accounting heard my poop plop into the toilet water? I could always flush right at the moment the poop hits the water, but what about the smell? She would still know.

So I shuffle through the cubicles and crit pits and mounting stations yelling, because I yell when I'm nervous, "Anyone want some coffee? I'm going up the street for coffee? No one wants any coffee? I'll just get some coffee then."

I wonder if my coworkers have caught on. They look at me suspiciously, mainly because we have a break room full of high quality Kona blend coffee dripping day and night, and the coffee is always hot and delicious, the accouterments always stocked. You couldn't so much as want for a stir stick. At worst they think I'm going to Starbucks to shit. At best they think I'm a coffee snob.

What's worse, is what happens when I get to the Starbucks. They know. Of course they know. I'm coming every day at 10, ordering quickly, desperately with a few beads of sweat on my forehead and then heading straight to the bathroom, where I stay a good amount of time and always leave a foul hanging odor, and perhaps a few streaks in the bottom of the bowl. I then rush out as quickly as is possible. This is easy because I am lighter.

Yesterday, the irascible secretary in our CAD unit, Eunice, followed me to the bathroom. I had to take a leak, of course. Eunice is a spunky woman, 60-65 years old. She never hesitates to tell me that wearing a few more skirts and maybe doing something with my hair would do my appearance wonders and get me a man. I let this slide because she's cute and old. She is the grandmother of our office, and therefore gets away with grandmotherly things.

Eunice entered the stall next to me. I heard her pulling a tissue seat cover from the dispenser and laying it on the seat. She was cooing in a grandmotherly way why I was still unmarried, as she dropped her peach stretch pants and sat down.

"Well I think the problem with you, darling..." I heard through the tinkle of my urine. "Is that you're toooooooeeeeerrrrrrr..." She made a great groan, during which a series of farts exploded in the stall next to me, and a smell unlike any knocked me backward. A poop belly flopped into the water beneath Eunice. Upon impact it made a GURP sound.

"You're just too self conscious. That's why you're not married."

Comments

Posted by: DolceBella at August 9, 2006 05:29 AM

Posted by: lohans_rack at August 11, 2006 06:08 PM

Posted by: pugugly at August 13, 2006 01:32 AM

Posted by: StellaBlue at August 17, 2006 01:32 AM

Posted by: Bentfroggy at August 18, 2006 10:03 AM

Posted by: WRXstacy at August 25, 2006 08:38 PM

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