My current company has a fairly spacious campus in that
sometimes you need to allot enough walking time in between meetings. A random Tuesday in the Fall was one of those
back and forth kind of days where I think I wound up traversing the campus at
least 3 times. On my way back to my
desk, I made a stop in the restroom to let nature take its course. As is customary, I put my laptop and notebook
down on the sink and made my way over to a much nicer (and individualized)
version of the Wrigley Field bleachers’ trough.
Next to me were 3 stalls where at least once a year I would hear logic
defied by a full blown phone conversation going on, describing a technical programming
change in one of our applications in between “plop, plop, fizz, fizz, . . . “ I
never did understand how that mode of communication made sense but who am I to
defy the posture of the Thinking Man . . .with a cell phone .. . sitting on a
toilet. (Somewhere the inventor of the
phrase “multi-tasking” is shaking his head.) Fortunately, the sole occupant of
the middle stall must not have felt the urge to converse as he was nostril deep
in stench. The interesting intestinal
sounds reverberating off of the tile walls reminded me of thunder off in the
distance. I wanted to get out of there
as soon as possible before I was serenaded by a bowel shaking symphony. But then there was a brief silence. I made my way over to the sink to wash my
hands in hopes of making a clean getaway.
One quick towel dry and I would leave my neighbor to continue his dirty
work. But as I turned to grab my things,
I heard him grunt and then very eloquently articulate the phrase, “Oh
brother!”.
Poor chap . . . in the last stages of male childbirth,
probably dripping in sweat. And yet he
somehow had felt the need to share his pain, agony, and workmanlike charm with
me despite the fact that neither of us knew who the other one was. It took guts. It took bravado. And it took me 2 seconds after that to vacate
the premises in fear of seeing the man behind the curtain. As guys, we’ve all been there but we never
want to see (or hear for that matter) the captain of the ship when he is in the
worst dogfight of his life. Had I seen
this person come out of the stall, I guarantee that I would have seen him in
the hallway or been in the same meeting room with him at some point in the
future. And it would have been one of
the awkward moments where he would say something important, career changing
even, but my mind would be dominated by thoughts about what exactly that guy
ate to make him say “Oh brother”.
The bathroom is like (literally and figuratively) like a box
of chocolates . . . you never know what you’re gonna get. Sorry but poop stories are funny.
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