Friends, I come to you in terrible times. What should have been a happy day has sadly taken a turn for the worst. I must lay bare before you - my "cubicle shit phobia". Cubicle shit phobia, a terrible affliction, suffered by many but spoken by few. Likened to anal warts, terribly painful but ultimately curable - but I digress.
I will start at the beginning. It all starts with dental hygiene, I decided that gum after each meal would keep my teeth free of food and my breadth minty fresh, so I bought myself a couple of boxes of chewing gum, you know the kind, flip top box and 50 pieces approx.
So with my new found dental hygiene plan firmly in place I set about chewing for all I was worth. But then it started to take over, it wasn't just after meals, it was after, tea, water, snacks, then it just became all the time. With all this chewing I was becoming unwell, my stomach was churning and I found myself with a severe belly ache. So I decided to read the chewing gum packet and to my complete horror and surprise - I find the following warning in tiny letters emblazoned on the underside of the box. "excessive consumption may produce laxative effects".
By the time I had read the sentence it was becoming unbearable, I rushed forward from the cubicle but keeping my paces to a minimum so as not to draw too much attention to my ever worsening condition. I walked through the hall to the "unused" toilet in order that I could relieve myself from the awful aching. I swung the door open and to my surprise, the two cubicle toilet had an engaged sign on one of the doors. My phobia, started to kick in, I mean the manly pursuit of shitting is all very well, why I can piss like a racehorse standing at a urinal but I cannot, I dare not, unload the watery chewing gum fuelled contents of my bowels while another gent, who's shiny shoes poked under the corner of the cheap wooden door.
And so it began......the terrible shit stand off. Dead silence less the drip drop of the tap. Not a movement from either man. My face grimaced, beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. This man was made of steel. "Oh god he could have a paper" I thought to myself. What if he has some sort of novel in there. I stared down at my shoes. The pain becoming unbearable. I would have to leave. There was another toilet at the other end of the building, but would I make it ? Suddenly as I was about to seize my pants and make a dash for it I heard it.......the slow recognisable tug of toilet roll. He was finished. This was it. I dreamed of bidets, waterfalls, andrex puppies, emptiness. I heard a belt buckle being fastened and a loud flush. Then water and soap and the whoosh of a hand dryer.
And so it began......the terrible shit stand off. Dead silence less the drip drop of the tap. Not a movement from either man. My face grimaced, beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. This man was made of steel. "Oh god he could have a paper" I thought to myself. What if he has some sort of novel in there. I stared down at my shoes. The pain becoming unbearable. I would have to leave. There was another toilet at the other end of the building, but would I make it ? Suddenly as I was about to seize my pants and make a dash for it I heard it.......the slow recognisable tug of toilet roll. He was finished. This was it. I dreamed of bidets, waterfalls, andrex puppies, emptiness. I heard a belt buckle being fastened and a loud flush. Then water and soap and the whoosh of a hand dryer.
I waited, the door opened. My only fear now was the double pass, he would leave and someone else would enter, this surely would be my downfall. The door slammed shut.
Moments later my grimace turned slowly to a smile and my groans became a relieved sob, the sweat on my brow was replaced by a small tear from the corner of my eye. I sat for a moment in some sort of faeces induced nirvana.
The terrible shit stand off was finally over.
2 comments:
But he wouldn't have been able to see your face, just let rip regardless. We've all heard the indescribably horrible sounds that emanate from our bowels, and from others, take comfort in that fact. And your anonymity, unless he recognises your shoes.
I once had a lengthy discussion about this topic with a former priest. He suffered from a similar plight as poor Nemici, however the discussion centred mainly around the exact time that one would choose to deficate.
As a former sufferer myself I was always under the impression that the first opportune moment, in times so desperate, was just as your tormentor decides to flush. I would happily enlighten myself in the knowledge the my neighbours toilet was sheilding others to my delights. He, on the other hand, would seem to be of the mindset displayed in the above article/confession; demanding absolute solitude to reach that state of Zen required for the perfect crime.
Thankfully I am free of this burden and now find it useful and compelling to terd in public at every opportunity, earning me the reputation of being the scorn of many a Nigerian ear. Despite of this, my studies into the subject continue.
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