Potty Humor

by tessa



My office bathroom is in the middle of our office, right next to my desk. (Side note: I told Gretchen this when I first started working here almost three years ago and she told me that I should quit, that it’s too much pressure to work so close to the potty. Looking back, she might have been right.)

So the first problem is that it’s directly inside the office rather than being located discreetly down a hall or tucked prudently in a private alcove. To say there’s no privacy is a massive understatement. Everyone can see who’s entering the bathroom, what they’re carrying, and knows how long they’re in there. Eww. Everyone (not everyone, just me due to my prime location, but I prefer to think that I’m not the only one here enjoying this particular precious gift) can hear what’s going on. For the sake of discretion, we’ll mention only that I know who feels compelled to answer the call of the cell while simultaneously answering the call of nature. Again. Ewww.

And the pssssssssssssssst of the ubiquitous air freshener spraying identifies what happened in the standing coffin of a room. Sadly the length of the spray actually pinpoints not only what transpired but who made it happen. This is definitely TMI to the nth degree. Nobody should know this much about their colleagues.

Oh, and the door handle is coming off. There are days when it comes off altogether — the jangle of metal hitting the tile and subsequent muttered curse tend to be a dead giveaway. And then there are days when the handle merely refuses to lock. Still a problem given the proximity to the rest of the office!

Thus, the irony: I spent years ridiculing former office mates for being incapable of using public restrooms, now I refuse to use the facilities during business hours unless it’s a true emergency. I’m not sure that’s altogether healthy but what’s a Public Poopaphobe to do?