You Shall Not Pass!

I’ve suddenly become very suspicious of the building in which I work.

It is a building in which several different companies reside, and I’m convinced that there is a memo that goes out to all the companies, regardless of their size, structure or function, every time I go to the toilet.

I imagine it looks something like this:

ATTENTION: ALL LEASEHOLDERS AT [BUILDING]
PRIORITY: URGENT

IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT JASPER SCHULTZ, FULL TIME EMPLOYEE OF [WORKPLACE], HAS JUST ENTERED THE PUBLIC RESTROOM LOCATED ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF OUR BUILDING.

SOURCES REVEAL THAT THIS IS NOT MERELY A BRIEF SOJOURN TO THE URINAL, BUT RATHER A MUCH MORE SIGNIFICANT CUBICLE VISIT.

GIVEN JASPER’S EXTREME DISCOMFORT WITH VISITING PUBLIC RESTROOMS UNDER EVEN THE BEST OF CIRCUMSTANCES, IT IS VITALLY IMPORTANT THAT ALL AVAILABLE PERSONS IMMEDIATELY LEAVE THEIR DESKS AND FAFF ABOUT IN THE GENERAL BATHROOM AREA.

LOCATED WITHIN THE MEN’S BATHROOM, ADDITIONAL TO THE CUBICLE JASPER IS CURRENTLY OCCUPYING, IS A SECOND CUBICLE, A URINAL STAND, A WASHBASIN AND HOT AIR DRYER. THEREFORE, THERE SHOULD BE NO LESS THAN FOUR OTHER PERSONS OCCUPYING THE BATHROOM FOR THE DURATION OF JASPER’S ABLUTION.

GIVEN YOUR CONTINUED COOPERATION IN THIS ENDEAVOUR, WE PLAN TO CAUSE MR SCHULTZ TO HAVE A COMPLETE NERVOUS BREAKDOWN WITHIN WEEKS.

REGARDS,
SOME KIND OF SINISTER HIGHER PRESENCE

This is the only reason I can think of why, on the rare occasion (like, very rare, because I try to avoid this wherever possible) that I have to make a…er…sitting visit to the bathroom, a veritable assemblage of persons bust into what is essentially my personal space. Once there, they seem to just mill about with no direct purpose, save for causing all my sphincters to slam shut. So I just sit there, waiting. Waiting for everyone to leave, to get away from me, or to at least make some damn noise so that I can shift about in my seat because my right cheek is about to go numb.

The repercussions of this choreographed aggravation of my public pooping phobia goes beyond merely have a numb backside and an airlocked alimentary canal. The longer the bathroom invaders shilly shally about, the longer I have to wait before I can safely “go”. The longer I have to wait, the longer it is before I can return to my desk. The longer I spend away from my desk, the weirder my co-workers think I am. The weirder my coworkers think I am, the more nervous about being at work I get. The more nervous I am at work, the more frantically my digestive system operates.

And the cycle continues.

As if it isn’t hard enough to go to the bathroom. The continued internet presence of The Human Centipede has already given me BM related nightmares. Now I have to contend with my toilet visits being flashmobbed?

I beg you, O Sinister Higher Presence, spare me from this torture. Cease and desist your impromptu pooping interventions, before I become a broken, quivering shell of a man.

Well, not so much a “shell”, I guess. Shells are empty. If those bastards keep interrupting me, I will NEVER be empty.