A bathroom adventure: the world’s shittiest adventure series

Pun totally intended, by the way.

I have a lot of issues (more than the New Yorker, which still isn’t a spoof website) and a large number of these issues involve bathrooms. Now, I don’t know if I just have a disproportionately high number of weird things happen to me in the bathroom, or if this kind of shit happens to everyone and they just don’t talk about it.

Either way, I figure I’m abnormal somehow, so let me tell you my most recent story.

Sixty-two percent of all of my nightmares begin in a public restroom. Flickering lights and clowns are optional
Sixty-two percent of all of my nightmares begin in a public restroom. Flickering lights and clowns are optional

I drink way too many Kickstarts in a day. So by two pm, I have to visit the ladies room. Since it’s break, I don’t want to visit the individual bathrooms near the break room. Sound proofing was not something they invested in when gussying the place up. Instead, I go to the two stall bathroom. One stall is occupied, but that’s okay. I didn’t walk in with this person and no one else was walking in behind me, so awkwardness should be avoided.

I go tinkle, and the person in the next stall is silent. As the grave. I assume they’re just waiting me out so they can poop in private as so many women are want to do. But when I get out and start washing my hands, I realize the truth is far more sinister.

The person in the other stall starts talking. Talking. In a soft sweet voice. And I jump and splash water around like a hummingbird on crack in a bird bath before I realize she’s on the fucking phone. She had, apparently, been on hold. A fact I gleaned from the portion of her private phone call I overheard as I rushed to wash my hands and get the fuck out of there.

Now, first, I’d like to say that if you want to make a private call away from your desk … GO THE FUCK OUTSIDE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. If you can’t do that, for whatever reason, and desperately need to conduct all personal business where people “do their business,” than use one of the private bathrooms. Don’t use the stall bathrooms. Sears, or whoever you were on the phone with, does not need to hear me pee.

And really, folks, that’s my biggest issue with this whole thing. There’s a chance my pee was being recorded to ensure my soft spoken co-worker received a quality customer service experience.

Thank god I didn’t queef.


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