The Office War
I've decided to bring a term over from fantasy sports into the blogging world. The term is "getting sniped." In fantasy sports, it means the team right before you taking a player you were planning on drafting. In the blogging world, I will apply this term to mean "an associate blogger posting on a topic you had been planning."
In this case, the posting in question was DC Cookie's post on pooping. Now, I wasn't going to post anything about women pooping, I preferred to keep my head buried in the sand over that. Like I-66, my little world was shattered by a friend's ex clogging our toilet. No, my post was about the dynamics of the office bathroom, my personal foibles, and so forth. Cookie stole my thunder, but enough time has passed.
I absolutely hate...HATE...having to use a stall at the office. I don't know where this started, I have no problems taking a few minutes out of my day for a piss. But the stall I approach with trepidation. One of those toilet liners is an absolute necessity. I've read that you get more germs on your hands grabbing one of those things than you would if you sat bare assed on the seat, but you know what, I don't care. I just feel better with a lined seat. Once I'm settled in, there are a few scenarios that can occur.
Scenario #1: I finish my business in peace. Pure silence, no one comes in, no one walks by the door, nothing bad happens. I have relieved myself, washed up, and gotten back to my desk, with no one the wiser. Bliss.
Scenario #2: I've just settled into position, and someone else comes into the bathroom. This is never good. Why? Because if I'm having a particularly bad digestive day, I don't want anyone invading my space. When such an occasion occurs, I go on high alert. I develop bat-like senses. After all, I can't see, I'm stuck in a stall, but my hearing goes up about five notches, and I can sense exactly where other people are in relation to me. I will not come out of the stall until the other person leaves. Some say you start to know who's in the stall once you start recognizing the shoes sticking out. I say that's B.S., I don't know what anyone's shoes look like. If they don't have a face, there's plausible deniability, and I'm giving no face. No one's going to be able to pin the stink on me. Go ahead, putter around, take your time washing your hands. I can wait you out in my porcelain castle.
Scenario #2a-2c: Person uses urinal/person washing coffee mug, face/person uses stall next to me. Scenario's 2a and 2b follow the "wait them out" ritual. 2c is an egregious breach ot ettiquette to me. Even though there are only two stalls, don't go into the other one. Scenario 2c is the only time I will leave the stall, when I know I can finish before them, and get out of the bathroom scot free.
Scenario #3: I know it's going to be bad. This occasion arises when I've had too much spicy food (which I can't get enough of) or something else which causes what I like to delicately refer to as "digestive issues*." In this case, I like to engage in Plan Z, which basically means "Save your department and to hell with everyone else." Translation, I go up to the next floor and defile their bathroom instead of ours. I think this is a great idea which should be eventually turned into some sort of reality show. I'm open to ideas.
*This recently occured when I ingested something known as a 9-1-1 wing from a chicken joint named "Cluck You." Someone at work bought 6 of them, and 6 of us each had one. Let me tell you, some people are sissies. One guy about fainted, three others took a bite, threw their wing in the trash and started drinking water. Only myself and one other guy finished. I won't lie, it was hot, but it wasn't so awful I was going to cry about it. It certainly was too hot to make the chicken enjoyable. Anyway, I was feeling pretty manly, and basking in the adoration of co-workers, until about 1/2 hour later when my stomach started hurting. I then blew my nose, most of which turned out to be blood. No kidding. One wing ripped me up inside but good. Later on, the people upstairs were doomed.
Scenario #4: The Sneak Attack. I hate the sneak attack. The sneak attack occurs when you enter the bathroom and see a pair of feet underneath the stall. They aren't moving, nothing seems to be happening. In this case, my guard goes down and I casually approach a stall for some relief. As soon as I'm in midstream, it happens. First a little wind breaking. Then a long, loud, piercing ass-shriek, punctuated by sharp bursts, and occasionally, a splashing noise or six. There is nothing more disgusting than being unable to leave immediately because I'M STUCK AT THE DAMN STALL, and now having to breath through my mouth for the duration. It's worse if I leave and someone comes in, and there's even a chance I might be blamed.
With that all in mind, here are the other types of people I hate in the bathroom:
1. The guy who tries to talk to you between stalls: This should be a death-penalty offense.
2. The guy who doesn't wash his hands: Is there anything worse than this guy? Especially if he wants to shake hands or clap you on the shoulder.
3. The Reader: I still don't understand why some people take the newspaper into the can with them. You're wasting time, and you're willingly prolonging your time in there.
4. The Grunter: Seriously, do we need to know how much effort you're putting in?
5. The Talker: Has anyone else walked in on someone having a conversation on the phone while they're taking a crap? Does the person on the other end of the phone know this? What the hell are you thinking?
There are others, but I'm done for now. Anyone else have a routine they care to share with us? The responses should be interesting.
In this case, the posting in question was DC Cookie's post on pooping. Now, I wasn't going to post anything about women pooping, I preferred to keep my head buried in the sand over that. Like I-66, my little world was shattered by a friend's ex clogging our toilet. No, my post was about the dynamics of the office bathroom, my personal foibles, and so forth. Cookie stole my thunder, but enough time has passed.
I absolutely hate...HATE...having to use a stall at the office. I don't know where this started, I have no problems taking a few minutes out of my day for a piss. But the stall I approach with trepidation. One of those toilet liners is an absolute necessity. I've read that you get more germs on your hands grabbing one of those things than you would if you sat bare assed on the seat, but you know what, I don't care. I just feel better with a lined seat. Once I'm settled in, there are a few scenarios that can occur.
Scenario #1: I finish my business in peace. Pure silence, no one comes in, no one walks by the door, nothing bad happens. I have relieved myself, washed up, and gotten back to my desk, with no one the wiser. Bliss.
Scenario #2: I've just settled into position, and someone else comes into the bathroom. This is never good. Why? Because if I'm having a particularly bad digestive day, I don't want anyone invading my space. When such an occasion occurs, I go on high alert. I develop bat-like senses. After all, I can't see, I'm stuck in a stall, but my hearing goes up about five notches, and I can sense exactly where other people are in relation to me. I will not come out of the stall until the other person leaves. Some say you start to know who's in the stall once you start recognizing the shoes sticking out. I say that's B.S., I don't know what anyone's shoes look like. If they don't have a face, there's plausible deniability, and I'm giving no face. No one's going to be able to pin the stink on me. Go ahead, putter around, take your time washing your hands. I can wait you out in my porcelain castle.
Scenario #2a-2c: Person uses urinal/person washing coffee mug, face/person uses stall next to me. Scenario's 2a and 2b follow the "wait them out" ritual. 2c is an egregious breach ot ettiquette to me. Even though there are only two stalls, don't go into the other one. Scenario 2c is the only time I will leave the stall, when I know I can finish before them, and get out of the bathroom scot free.
Scenario #3: I know it's going to be bad. This occasion arises when I've had too much spicy food (which I can't get enough of) or something else which causes what I like to delicately refer to as "digestive issues*." In this case, I like to engage in Plan Z, which basically means "Save your department and to hell with everyone else." Translation, I go up to the next floor and defile their bathroom instead of ours. I think this is a great idea which should be eventually turned into some sort of reality show. I'm open to ideas.
*This recently occured when I ingested something known as a 9-1-1 wing from a chicken joint named "Cluck You." Someone at work bought 6 of them, and 6 of us each had one. Let me tell you, some people are sissies. One guy about fainted, three others took a bite, threw their wing in the trash and started drinking water. Only myself and one other guy finished. I won't lie, it was hot, but it wasn't so awful I was going to cry about it. It certainly was too hot to make the chicken enjoyable. Anyway, I was feeling pretty manly, and basking in the adoration of co-workers, until about 1/2 hour later when my stomach started hurting. I then blew my nose, most of which turned out to be blood. No kidding. One wing ripped me up inside but good. Later on, the people upstairs were doomed.
Scenario #4: The Sneak Attack. I hate the sneak attack. The sneak attack occurs when you enter the bathroom and see a pair of feet underneath the stall. They aren't moving, nothing seems to be happening. In this case, my guard goes down and I casually approach a stall for some relief. As soon as I'm in midstream, it happens. First a little wind breaking. Then a long, loud, piercing ass-shriek, punctuated by sharp bursts, and occasionally, a splashing noise or six. There is nothing more disgusting than being unable to leave immediately because I'M STUCK AT THE DAMN STALL, and now having to breath through my mouth for the duration. It's worse if I leave and someone comes in, and there's even a chance I might be blamed.
With that all in mind, here are the other types of people I hate in the bathroom:
1. The guy who tries to talk to you between stalls: This should be a death-penalty offense.
2. The guy who doesn't wash his hands: Is there anything worse than this guy? Especially if he wants to shake hands or clap you on the shoulder.
3. The Reader: I still don't understand why some people take the newspaper into the can with them. You're wasting time, and you're willingly prolonging your time in there.
4. The Grunter: Seriously, do we need to know how much effort you're putting in?
5. The Talker: Has anyone else walked in on someone having a conversation on the phone while they're taking a crap? Does the person on the other end of the phone know this? What the hell are you thinking?
There are others, but I'm done for now. Anyone else have a routine they care to share with us? The responses should be interesting.
posted by The Captain at 5:54 PM
2 Comments:
It's okay to read when you're at home, but we're at work people. You have 'shit' to be doing...
I think I blew my load on Cookie's site about this subject.
Speaking of, there's a funny piece by National Lampoon regarding masturbating in the office restroom. The Art of Whackery
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