I've somehow worked my intestinal track in to a routine where I poop at around 8:20 every morning, just before I leave for work, which allows me to completely skip the horrendous process of taking the Work Dump. However, our office closes early on Friday, which means I have to come in an hour early, which means that my scheduled poop time comes round while I'm standing in my cubicle taking phone calls.

On top of all this, I may have mentioned that the men's room on my floor is a terribly uncomfortable environment to make boom-boom in. There are only two stalls, and the toilets in these stalls are literally two feet apart from each other. When you're sitting on the bowl, you could easily reach down – without a lot of effort – and grab your neighbor's foot. (Also, we have to wear security badges that clip on to your waistband, and since your pants are around your ankle while you're doo-dooing, people can totally read your badge, which has a picture of you smiling on it. You're not anonymous at all. I shove my badge in my pocket.)

Today, of course, 8:20 rolls around and I really have to shit, but my break's not until 9:15. About four minutes before my break I end a call and dart for the bathroom, determined to not spend my entire fifteen minute free time breaking bread. As I walk in, I see feet under one of the stalls (and I have to take the handicap stall, which I hate because I'm afraid someone who's actually handicapped will roll in to the men's room and have to wait for me to finish shitting).

I walk in the stall, put a seat liner on the rim - which doesn't do much good because the seats are ergonomically correct, like they have a little bucket swoop in the back, so when you sit down on the taut liner it crinkles and crackles and tears - pull my pants down, relax, and juuuust get ready for the whole process to begin. I notice that I've made a lot of noise. Then I realize that the guy in the stall next to me hasn't made any noise at all since I walked in the bathroom. In fact, He hasn't grunted, sniffled, farted, or even moved an inch. He's dead still. No matter how badly I have to go, I'm terribly self-conscious at this point. Is he passed out? Dead? Has he OD'd? I conclude that he's embarrassed, and I've interrupted his secret dump, and he's going to wait me out, so now I'm even more self-conscious about making noise, and I know that when the actual physical process of elimination begins, there will be sounds. Maybe some gassy sounds, and definitely some plopping sounds.

What makes things worse is, he's got on these well-worn Asics running shoes, and a pair of pretty skanky-looking jeans, which I can see under the stall. I estimate that he's probably a run-of-the-mill dude, and run-of-the-mill dudes don't really have a problem being gross in general, so they certainly don't have a problem dropping a loaf in public. He's got to make noise some time; I decide to wait him out.

One minute goes by; two; three. Five minutes in, the guy hasn't moved at all. He's in a shit trance or something. And to make matters worse, I've been teasing my colon this whole time, and now I've got to suck it all back up and wait until later when this clown isn't in the bathroom. Which means, unless I want my phone stats to suffer, I've got to wait until lunch, which is three-and-a-half hours away. FUCK!

So I do what any neurotic Workplace Dumper would do: I tear of a line of toilet paper and pretend to wipe. I feel like if I just stand up and walk away, that's even weirder, and I know this guy can hear everything, even the faint sound of toilet paper brushing against my ass. (Although I'm actually wiping it against my thigh, which makes a congruent sound.)

--

Around twenty minutes before lunch is over, my buddies inform me that there's a relatively private bathroom on the second floor where I should be able to shit in peace. I throw my lunch remnants in the wastebin and charge hustle down the hall. When I step inside the men's room, to my horror, I notice the exact same setup as earlier this morning: two stalls, one occupied, handicapped stall available, toilets roughly two feet apart. Dammit. Well, at least there's no way the building has two silent shitters, right?

I line the seat, sit down, rustling ensues...and the guy next to me still hasn't flinched. Two in one day! At this point, I'm prairie doggin', so I don't care. I sit down and let loose.

To my stall neighbor's credit, he did grunt a couple of times. It wasn't an outright grunt, rather it sounded like he was clenching his teeth and grunting silently until the force became too much, wherein he accidentally grunted out loud. I don't think he even shit; like me earlier, I think he came in, sat down, and just couldn't go.

I certainly hope he didn't shit because he left without washing his hands.

I, on the other hand, was weightless for the rest of the afternoon.