Pottiquette

***WARNING - THIS POST CONTAINS DISCUSSION OF BODILY FUNCTIONS. IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR SOMETHING FAR LESS OFFENSIVE***

So, I work in a building that houses several production companies. There is a ladies room on the first floor that has something like 10 stalls in it. Now, I tend to be a creature of habit. I go for the large handicap stall at the far end. It's not really about the size of the stall. It just so happens that the first time I ever ventured into that lavatory, that was the particular stall I chose. From then on, I tend to gravitate toward that one. Of course, it is in use, I'll pick another, smaller stall. I mean, I'm not so crazy as to WAIT till someone comes out. And it's not like a bathroom at some concert stadium where there is a line of squirmy legged girls waiting for their turn to empty their bladders of overpriced beer. This lavatory is almost never occupied by more than 3 people at any given time.

There was this one day a few weeks back, when I walked in to find three anorexic, fake tanned, supermodel type girls primping in front of the mirror. Unlike in high school when "pretty girls" stood in front of the mirror applying lip gloss or baby blue eye-shadow while gossiping about the quarterback or the pregnant cheerleader, these girls did not speak to each other. In fact, it was if they didn't know each other, or didn't like each other. I immediately assumed that these girls must be in the building auditioning to be a brief case toting Deal Or No Deal lady. I admit I felt short, and stumpy next to them and was a bit hesitant to walk to the end of the room to get to my favorite stall. The moment passed though as soon as one of them spoke. Clearly it wasn't just the empty stalls that were vacant in that bathroom that day.

But I digress. What I wanted to write about was not game show bimbos. I wanted to talk about (IN CASE YOU IGNORED THE WARNING, HERE COMES THE PART YOU MAY NOT LIKE, SO DON'T BLAME ME IF YOU CAN'T TAKE IT)

pooping.

I went into the bathroom just a few minutes ago to relieve the pressure. My stall was empty and waiting for me. However, the stall right next to it was occupied. I hesitated for a moment. Of all the stalls I could choose, did I HAVE to squat down right next to the only other person in the room? Is there some sort of rule for this? I chose to follow my own comfort and went to the end stall. I sat, I did my business. Nothing special. However, the person in the neighboring stall was conspicuously quiet. It was if she was holding something in until I left. It was if I had interrupted something. But here's what I don't get. She's in the bathroom. She's either peeing or pooping. It's something we all do. It's what the room is for. It's not a secret. Why are people scared to poop in a public bathroom? Who among us has never moved a bowel? Who has never released gas into the echoing bowl? Who among us are so pristine as to only silently urinate?

For a moment, I felt bad. I thought perhaps I should rush out of there so this girl could do her business in peace. But then, I thought better of it. Get over yourself. Take a crap for goodness sakes. It's natural. So, I took my time washing my hands. I let the water run till it was nice and warm before I stuck my hands under the stream. I pumped too much pink soap onto my hands and rubbed them together into a bubbly lather. I rinsed, and, as I am sure it would have said on the original soap label, I repeated the entire process in order to ensure proper cleanliness. One towel would not be enough, so I pulled several sheets from the dispenser and carefully blotted my hands till they were perfectly dry. I took a moment to glance back at the nervous feet in the stall behind me - still frozen in some sort of unnatural holding pattern. Shall I give in and get out? Hell no. I decided to take the time to finger through my hair which of course dislodged my hair clip. So I had to fuss with my locks a bit to get it back into place. Then I pulled my chapstick from my pocket and applied some remedy to my dry mouth. It was then I heard a defeated exhale from inside the stall. The frozen feet finally moved. The toilet flushed. One would expect that the occupant would emerge from the stall at that point. Instead, she sat back down in an attempt to do her business while the industrial flushing mechanism masked the sounds of her release. Too bad for her, though, the flush was much faster than her and just as I turned to walk out of the room, I heard the distinct plunking sound of terds hitting porcelain.