So I go into the restroom on my floor at work and as I enter a lady is exiting. The smell hits me in the face and assualts my nose like Tyson assualts an ear. I compose myself and enter a stall to do my non-smell causing business.
As I exit my stall, two ladies walk in and are attacked by the still lingering biohazard…and they assume I did it.
I heard them giggling as I exited in shame.
It was not me, I tell you.
It was not me.
I feel your pain. We have someone in the office who is currently having some “issues” - she’s been undergoing radiation or chemo (I’m not sure exactly) and it is fucking toxic in there.
I think it’s pretty well recognized who’s responsible, but I can’t help feeling embarrassed if I leave the room and it’s funky in there. IT IS NOT ME.
I wonder if that lady was thinking, “It’s not me!”
Next time, blame it on them as you leave.
“Oh good God, at least let the door close and sit down before you start gassing the place!”
That’ll show 'em.
What if it had been you? Are you expected to hold your farts while you shit?
This morning posed a new problem.
I entered a stall with some very persistent skid marks clinging in the bowl. I did my business and flushed and out of morbid curiosity turned to see the poo-glue remained.
As I exited the stall an older lady came in and I am sure thought it was be who left the doo-doo trail.
Maybe I should just get a catheter and colostomy bag and stay out of the work place bathrooms.
I think some phantom pooper is setting me up.
Phantom pooper <snerk>. I picture a little turd in a mask who leaves “The Phantom Pooper has struck again!” messages on bathroom walls.
You know I do that too.
And then I remind myself. We are all human. All humans poop. Every single one. No exceptions.
Poop does not smell nice. Sometimes it smells really bad. At one time or another we’ve all had a case of the extremely toxic poops. Every single one of us, no exceptions.
Bathrooms are where poop belongs. Bathrooms sometimes do not smell nice. We all have to live with it.
Poop, it does a body good.
Poop, it’s not just from breakfast anymore.
Poop. It’s everywhere you want to be.
I’d rather poop than switch.
I’m a pooper. Wouldn’t you like to be a pooper, too?
Poop, the other dark meat.
We’ll leave a fan on.
Got poop?
da da da da da da…I’m poopin’ it.
I’d like to teach the world to poop in perfect harmony.
:eek:
OKAY! YOU WIN!
The brown moustache visual I got off of that was worth this year’s subscription.
Oh gross! giggling hysterically
My mother, father, and brother are all the stinkiest people in the world when they go to the bathroom. And yet each one of them seems to give me the (pun intended) stinkeye when I gag and spray the place with Lysol…
There’s your answer – go to a restroom on another floor to poop!
Ass-uming (ha!) the people on that floor aren’t as stinky as your floor coworkers.
I have a sort of poop amnesia.
I’ll walk into the bathroom and see Joe coming out of the smelliest, shittiest stall in the world. I’ll think, “oh, Gad, what a disgusting man. What if someone thinks of me that way.”
Then, I see him back in the office, and it’s just same old Joe. He’s not surrounded by smell lines of poop. It’s not stuck in his pants. It’s just Joe.
I think we’ve got our ideas about pooping and farting all backwards - we should be celebrating them, not trying to hide from them or disavow them. When you sit in the stall and let out a massive fart, or walking out of a huge stinky mess, make eye contact and announce for all to hear, “YEAH BABY! THAT WAS ALL ME!” Well, no eye contact while still in the stall, although I guess you could swing the door open. “You guys all hear that? My colon is ripped, I tell you, ripped.”
Y’all are so going to get me in trouble with my boss! And someone owes me a new coat of mascara!
Jes’ kiddin’. Carry on.
Many years ago I worked for an up-and-coming entrepreneurial business. Because we were in the stage of worrying about making money instead of nice offices, many of us were stuffed into nooks and crannies.
My desk was literally three feet from the only bathroom :eek: I complained in every staff meeting about having to work all day in what was essentially a green stink cloud.
One lovely afternoon after having Wendy’s for lunch I produced a hideously unspeakable green cloud in the bathroom and then came back and sat at my desk. The big boss happened by and started gagging. “Ohmigod!” She screeched: "“This is so, so awful, I really know what you’re talking about now!”
My desk was moved to a space far, far away from the bathroom the very next morning.
There’s a moral to this story . . .
Funny stuff I tell you, funny stuff.
But it doesn’t have to smell bad!
Leave a bottle of Take a Whiff in the restroom, and soon it will be smelling like roses. 