| November 18, 2004 - The Mystery Pooper |
| Dear Friends, have you ever gone into the restroom at work and you practically wanted to scream, "Oh my God! Who in the world created, or is in the process of creating, that awful stench?" And you try to hold your breath while you rush to pee, wash and dry your hands, and make it out the door before you pass out? Dear Readers, that so often happens where I work, because the men's room on my floor is sooooo incredibly tiny and there's absolutely no ventilation in there. The only ventilation really is a hole in the door where the lock used to be. That, of course, means that anyone walking past the door might get a good whiff of noxious gases or even hear rude noises. And I suppose that if they dropped down on their knees, they could look through the hole and see whatever else might be going on in there. Now, of course, while you're in there with the human volcano, you begin asking yourself, "Hmmm, I wonder who that is?" And you feel like you should leave so that you won't see whoever it is come out of the stall and thereby find one of your colleagues an object of ridicule. But at the same time, you have a sense of curiosity as to who could possibly be producing all those god-awful smells. Dear Friends, I must tell you about the time when I was at Big Name University. I was sitting on the grass talking with a friend of mine, when I leaned back and plopped my hand right in a pile of dog doo! I was mortified and went running into a nearby building to disinfect myself as best I could. I was in the men's room scrubbing my hand with soap and scalding water, when I suddenly heard all this groaning and straining coming from one of the stalls! I was, like, "Whew! That poor guy's constipated! He needs to start eating prunes or something!" Well, imagine my surprise when the toilet flushed, the stall door flew open, and out stepped my French teacher! Talk about embarrassment! I was stunned and studiously turned back to my hand scrubbing and praying that he wouldn't reduce my grade for catching him at an awkward moment. Now, mind you, I got an A that semester so maybe he was rewarding me for not gabbing to all my classmates. Now comes the confession! On Monday, dear Friends, JOHNNYLEEN's stomach was ever so upset that he went running to the potty at least three times that morning. Usually, I go to another floor where the men's room is roomier and better ventilated. Well, of course, with the rumbly in my tumbly as Winnie-the-Pooh so quaintly calls it, I couldn't make it to another floor so I was reduced to using the poorly ventilated, oh-so-small room on my floor. Now all of you know that whenever you have an incident where you're going to be making horrible noises and giving off stomach churning smells, an otherwise deserted bathroom suddenly turns into Grand Central Station. And that's exactly what happened! That bathroom door kept opening and closing, opening and closing, to the point that I didn't want to leave the stall even though I was through for fear that someone would see me and say, "Aha! So it was you JOHNNYLEEN! You're The Mystery Pooper!" Not only that, I had the dreadful suspicion that someone would try to identify The Mystery Pooper (i.e. JOHNNYLEEN) by trying to get a good look at his shoes under the stall door! Of course, if any of my colleagues realized it was me, I would be devastated because it would detract from my fantabulosity, and we can't have that, now, can we? Next page Previous page Go to diary entries Go back home |