Thursday, February 21, 2013

This blog is about poop.

     I should warn you now that this post is about shit.  Shit at work.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  But before I delve in, I wanted to let you know that when you're searching for "blogspot" so you can get to your blog, don't forget the g, or weird things will come up.  On your mom's computer.  Another fair warning.  Aren't you so glad I'm so protective of you?  I'm like Christian Grey.  Now finish your dinner; you'll need your strength.  For this blog.

     50 Shades of Grey is a great transition into exactly what I'd like to talk about today: poop.  Here's why.  50 Shades of Grey is an excellent book.  For literary reasons, of course, such as sentence fluency, punctuation, and word choice.  And also for content.  For content reasons, 50 Shades of Grey is an excellent book to read by yourself (or creepily with a friend, if that's how you are) in places that are NOT the bathroom.

     Firstly, let's talk about reading in the bathroom.  I don't know about you, but I have to have to have to read something while I'm using the ladies' room.  Magazines, backs of Febreze bottles, cereal boxes (just when I'm hungry).  I'm also an avid poo texter (you're welcome, friends).  I will do the pre-poo-around-the-house-to-find-something-to-read-before-I-can-shit run because it is extremely necessary that I not be bored whilst shitting.  Enter 50 Shades of Grey.  Let's just say NOT AS SEXY to read around...certain...smells.  Maybe just save the boring parts for when you're using the bathroom. That would be my recommendation.

HTF can poop be forest green?

     So...reading things.  I also feel the need to read things while pooping at work, but people would totally know if they saw you grabbing your Kindle and then doing that poop run, so you can't even do that.  You just have to go in and hope that the custodians brought in a different kind of Lysol so you have something to read.

     Pooping at work is the worst, though.  I hate hate hate it.  I hate knowing that someone pooped in there before you and you are about to sit on that warm-ass toilet.  I hate walking into that shit cloud and immediately despising that person that you liked moments before you knew they could defile a place in a moment's time.  And knowing that you're about to do the same thing.  I hate that Fruit-Punch-Persimmon Febreze that tricks your brain into thinking there wasn't a hot dump in there seconds before.

     So, in a perfect world, you'd never have to poop at work.  But the world isn't perfect, which is why work poos must occur.  Sometimes a less-than-perfect-but-still-a-little-awesome poo happens - that's when you're in there all alone and you know everyone's busy so you don't have to worry about any loud noises and you can just be free.  Still awesome.  But those can't happen every time, or you'll get complacent about life and take things for granted like shitting in peace, so to keep you on your toes, sometimes you eat a shit-ton of beans for dinner and you have to take a noisy dump and apparently EVERYONE in the whole place drank 6 cups of coffee that morning so EVERYONE is in the bathroom for the whole day.  Those are the days that make sure you don't take your calm, people-free poos for granted.  You know what I'm talking about.  You walk in - no one's there.  You're all, "YES!  CALM POO TIME!  And daaaaaamn I have some gas that I've been holding for like three hours."  So you sit on the cold toilet (no one's been in there for a it a sign?  How lovely!).  And you let that gas out and HOLY F it's loud, but still no one's there, so it's still awesome, and so you decide you can be free and let out last night's dinner.  And that second - that mortifying second - where you're taking that terribly noisy gas-intermittent-shit - a colleague walks in.  And you are ashamed.  Usually it's the pretty one that wears heels to work every day.  You know she heard it, even though you stopped immediately.  So many questions: should I courtesy flush?  Then she'll totally know.  How long will she be here?  I have so much more love to give!  Do you think she knows me by my shoes?  Of course she knows your shoes - they're covered in paint and you're the only art teacher here.  Oh, she knows.  And there are a few seconds where it's soundless and you wonder if she needs to poop, too, but she's waiting for you to leave, but you're waiting for her to leave so you can finish, but it's just a painful few silent seconds, and then she flushes (THANK GOD!  You can let out a little gas then.)  And so much relief!  As she leaves, you pick the Febreze back up to continue reading -- ooh, Tropical Cumquat -- and you can finally finish what you started.

     But then you realize that probably everyone reads the back of that disgusting Febreze and they do it BEFORE THEY WASH THEIR HANDS!

     So you put it back down in disgust, finish your business, and get the hell outa that stall.
     You wash your hands slowly, hoping that Miss Heels won't still be in the hall, because then she'd totally know how long you were in there.

     You exit, rubbing lotion into your hands, until you realize that that motion makes you look extremely maniacal - like an evil doer - which is not necessarily a good thing while exiting a public bathroom.  And of course, Miss Heels is still totally out in the hall.  She gives you the OMG-you-were-in-there-for-like-18-minutes look, and you maniacally rub your hands together, put your Kindle back under your arm, and get the hell out of there.