You know those people who can’t poop in public restrooms? Maybe you are one yourself. You feel like whoever else is in there can somehow see your poop face through the metal stalls. Maybe your poop just gets shy and runs back in its den to hide.
Me, my poops– we don’t have that problem. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s not weird and embarrassing, pooping while there’s someone else in the room. But I’m a pragmatist, and you’ve got to choose your priorities in this life. I usually have a pretty short window of opportunity to get the train out of the station–if I miss it, there’s no telling when I’ll have that chance again. So I’m not going to pass up a rare opportunity just because of a little modesty.
A little while ago I excitedly arose from my chair and strode towards the bathroom in anticipation of the hovering spacecraft that was about to land. I did the stall check for feet and found a pair clad in navy blue Anne Klein loafers in the third stall down. I choose the stall furthest away, and right as I lock the door I can hear Anne Klein lady flush. “Cool”, I think “She’ll be out of here in a minute.”.
I decide to wait until she is out of the room to do my business. I hear her washing her hands. The electric hand dryer thing starts blowing, and I’m like “yeah, this day is about to get a whole lot better!” when suddenly I hear the water turn back on. She hasn’t left yet. What is happening? I hear the little click of the clasp on a cosmetics bag, some rustling about and then the unmistakable sound of teeth being brushed. Brush brush brush. Swish swish swish. Brush brush brush. Ten seconds on each tooth. Oh. My. God.
OK, now I’m annoyed. I was trying to be considerate, missy, but I got all excited and now the wheels are in motion and I’m sorry, but I don’t have any brakes. Spitefully, I kind of want to poop just so she has to smell it while the toothbrush is still in her mouth but it turns out that I am shyer or have better manners than I thought. Luckily, I have this trick that I developed– it’s called the Poo Ya. If you flush the toilet right as the poop is leaving your body, the sound of the flush will drown out (no pun intended, ha ha) the splash as it hits the water. The flush upon exit also serves the double purpose of eliminating the offending odeur as efficiently as possible. So! Poo Ya, zip, wash my hands and am halfway out the door while Anne Oral Hygene is only just beginning to rinse her pearly whites.
As I walk back to my cube, it occurs to me that this woman has probably never given a blow job in her life. Now that I think about it, I bet she’s one of those women who can’t have an orgasm, either. Jeeze, brushing her teeth might be one of the most satisfying physical experiences she gets all day! Shame on me for begrudging her that. A woman who can’t come is a sad woman indeed. I decide that today, out of solidarity for this deprived woman, I too shall go without, and so I do not stop at the break room and take one of Sally’s infamous oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the way back to my cube. Maybe the poor dear will take the one that would have been mine–and then she will have another reason to brush her teeth. I hope so.