It happens to the best of us…

by nowmaddiesays

It’s an unavoidable fate.  We all pray for it not to happen to us, but without fail, it always does.  It’s 10:00AM—you finished your cup of coffee about 15 minutes ago.  You’re going through emails when it hits you—you have to go to the bathroom.  And you have to do it at work.

Panic starts to creep in.  You wonder if perhaps you can hold it like when you were little–you were mostly successful, having only peed your pants at school twice in all your years. After all, it’s only 7 hours until you fight rush hour traffic on the drive home—you can do it.  But damn, that coffee is really running its course.  You immediately regret ever having sipped it.  Who cares if you only had 4 hours of sleep from working late the night before and couldn’t resist the Cinnabon coffee creamer—you’d rather be a zombie than risk the humiliation of your co-workers hearing and smelling what you’ve done in the bathroom.

The panic begins to transition into that all too familiar pain in your abdomen.  You have to go—there’s no avoiding it.  You take a quick scan of your office and do a rough headcount.  Everyone seems to be at their desk, which means the bathroom should be free.  You run the risk of sharing it with someone from another business in your building, but that’s a far less scary fate than happening to catch your co-workers eye in between the cracks of the the door mid poop.  It’s now or never.

You get up from your desk and try to walk as quickly as possible to the bathroom while maintaining a casual stride so as not to arouse any suspicion.  Who, me?  I’m just stretching my legs—nothing else.  The receptionist stops you to ask how your weekend was.  You put on a painful smile while asking about her redecorating plans for her house, all the while willing the phone to ring so you can get out of there.  At the soonest pause in the conversation you leave and continue on your journey to relief.

As you open the door, you let out a sigh of relief to see that it is dark and no one else is in there.  You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, but now you can breathe easy at your newfound privacy.  You open up the stall and begin to go about your business—literally.

The bathroom main door rushes open.  Crap—you recognize those shoes.  It’s that girl you don’t like.  And now she’s going to sit next to you while you poop.  You begin to analyze all the possible solutions:

  • Wrap things up at the speed of light and escape the bathroom before she can ever notice it was you.
  • Flush repeatedly to mask any unfortunate sounds that might escape.
  • Beat that level of candy crush you’ve been stuck on—hopefully by the time you do, the bathroom will be empty and you’ll be free to slip out unnoticed.
  • Pretend as if nothing’s wrong.  Finish up at your own pace, and then if you should happen to be forced to make awkward chit chat on the sink, look her square in the eye and ask how that project she’s been working on is going.  Everyone poops—why should you be ashamed?  You’re a grown, hardworking woman. Just keep rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.
  • Not be embarrassed at all because girls don’t poop.  Ever.

In the end you acknowledge that you’re a coward and would rather avoid any encounter entirely, so you speed things along and sprint back to your desk.  Oh, me?  I’ve been here all morning diligently working—nothing to see here.

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