Little life lesson I’ve recently learned. Never eat a lot of fiber for breakfast and expect a quiet day at work. At the point you must race to the porcelain haven before the building pressure in your bowels is released throughout your office SOMEONE walks in. And they need SOMETHING. And they won’t GO AWAY. You try to move them along as quickly as possible. But it’s never quick enough. Apparently you hints at “this is not a good time right now… not interested in anything coming out of your mouth…not listening…” do not seem to be hitting them squarely enough in the head. All you want to tell them is “If you don’t leave – right now – my bowels will be exploding and you may just end up with an unpleasant gift on your tie.”
But you can’t actually SAY that so you keep quiet and continue the game of squeezing your cheeks together, trying not to let anything slip out. Trying not to move the wrong way in your chair where you’ll lose the seal you’ve so carefully created between the fabric and your ass.
Not a fun experience.
And once you make it to the bathroom there are five people in the stalls, two washing their hands and one talking on their cell phone (no idea… must make for interesting background noise). So you maneuver your way into the big, semi-private handicap stall that only adjoins on one side. And you wait. Your body is telling your brain “ok… we’re at the place we learned to excrete unnecessary items… what’s the hold up??” Three people flush and the bathroom door opens and closes. You wait. By this point you’ve grabbed a wad of toilet paper and are squeezing it until your knuckles are white, begging your cheeks to hold on just a little longer, legs shaking up and down to divert attention to another part of your body. Finally the last person walks out and…. sweet release.
From now on its protein for breakfast.