Why Taking A Shit At Work Always Sucks.

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Let’s just admit.  We all shit.  It happens.  In my ideal world, I would drop the kids off at the pool first thing in the morning, just after I’ve had my first cup of coffee, then grab a shower, get dressed, head to work, and life is swell.  But life isn’t always that simple.  Sometimes I have three or four Coronas while watching the Cavs game.  I’ll then follow it up with a little late night Taco Bell.  Find myself waking up at 3am that same night looking for a snack, and accidentally stumble into the box of Fiber One gummies that I bought a month earlier.  Because fiber, and stuff.

The result is I wake up, and I know it’s going to be a shitty day.

One of my greatest fears, worse than snakes, being taken over by pod people, Ronald McDonald, or dying alone, is having to take a shit at work.  It’s a sketchy affair, and it always sucks.  At home, I have all of the comforts that I have created.  A stack of Esquire and Rolling Stone magazines, a candle, matches, and a sweet-smelling Glade plug-in.  I actually scratch them to see what they will smell like, and currently my bathroom smells like a fucking Tahitian escape.  I also have really soft toilet paper, and a pack of baby wipes.  I comfortably take a shit, and life is good.

At work, I have a claustrophobic cage, no magazines, people coming and going, and bargain two-ply.  What I don’t have is privacy, and privacy is key.

Growing up and attending Southeast, none of the elementary school stalls had doors, so I developed this problem early in my life.  I’d imagine it was because they were afraid we would use them to sneak away and smoke pot, or maybe masturbate, we were all a bunch of degenerates, but it really sucked because sometimes I just wanted to drop a deuce, in private.   I quickly found a work-around, whenever the mood struck, and I knew shit was about to happen, I’d tell my teacher I wasn’t feeling well, and I’d score me a visit to the nurse’s office.  The bathroom in the nurse’s office had a door, and that sweet, sweet, privacy.  I spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office, I played the system.  Not only could I shit in private, but when I came out, I could snack on crackers, and drink orange juice, yes I loved the nurse’s office.

I’m now in my mid-thirties, and there are many of things that I have begrudgingly learned to deal with.  Waiting in line at the grocery store, while my food wilts away in the cart and I watch the person in front of me argue with the cashier about coupons.  Growing old and slowly dying while standing in line at the DMV, just to buy a sticker.  Hearing a boss say “cool beans”, in a sad attempt to connect to people who don’t like or even respect him (yes I’m talking about that fucking out-of-touch tool at my former job, and his minion), but one thing I’ve never came to terms with, is shitting at work.  No matter how you time it, someone will always enter the room, right when you are about to let rip, and then there’s some other asshole, who will enter the stall next to you, invading your space and making it more awkward.

Taking a shit at work always sucks.

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