Feeling Flushed | Mental Poo

Monday, July 08, 2013

Feeling Flushed

Back in the day (my very first week here at Mental Poo), I wrote my OWN bathroom law:

Thou shalt not hold a conversation in the men's room.

I neglected one very important rule, however, which I recalled during one of my very own recent experiences.

I hate having bathroom 'experiences.'

I'm going to start wearing Depends Undergarments so I don't actually have to go INTO the bathroom and can thus avoid such things.

Coworker: "Hey...what's that smell?"

Me: "My bad. Sorry. Someone sent me a funny Will Ferrell video on YouTube and I didn't want to get up."

Depends Undergarments ROCK.

Regarding my rule, here goes:

If you see a clogged toilet brimming with poo-stew, DON'T TRY TO FLUSH IT.

Jesus. H. Christ.

I had this lovely experience last week when I myself had to squash out a yule log.

My entry into the first bathroom stall was apparently shortly after an elephant had gone in there with a new, improved, colon cleansing formula.

Me (opening stall): "GOOD GOD!! WTF?! Who did this ... the Hulk?!?"



It spoke and had it's own intelligence.

Me: "Sorry."

The toilet was brimming with butt stew and obviously clogged so I simply suppressed my gag reflex and happily (not really) moved to the next stall.

As I'm sitting there making dookie, in walks a guy in a pair of loafers.

He casually strides into the clog-stall.


My heart sank because, with no stalls left, I know in my heart what's going to happen next. However, because of the "no talk" rule in the men's room ... I'm not allowed to try to stop him.


Oh. No.

What happened next, I do not wish on my worst enemy.

Except maybe Rachael Ray.

I hope this happens to her A LOT.

I hear the inevitable flush.


Of course, the giant, animated turd of the Apocalypse refuses to flush...

...and immediately starts overflowing INTO MY STALL.


For the next 15 seconds, I frantically try to expel my own remaining dookie as fast as possible AND wipe said dookie before the overflowing poo water and little brown canoes reach my shoes.

Side story:

I used to work for a civil engineering firm a while back.

One of the engineers there overflowed the toilet, and came running frantically into the boss' office.


There is a pause as my boss slowly looks up at him.

He clasps his hands together firmly on his desk, leans forward, and ever so calmly looks at Scott and replies:

Boss: "Are there little brown canoes?"


Back to me...squishing and wiping as fast as my little anus and tiny hands could go.

It was like Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark ...

... except instead of being chased by a giant rolling boulder, it was a flood of poops.

I'd like to see Indy get out of this one.

The moral of the story:


Abide by the rules.

Live by the Rules.

And if you see my feet in the stall next to the clogged one, DON'T FLUSH THE FUCKING THING.

The odds of seeing me though are slim to none these days.

Depends Undergarments.

The bathroom of the future, baby.

Bathroom of the future.


Becky said...

Oh My God. I don't even know you and I have tears running down my face from laughing so hard imagining your poor self trying to get out of the bathroom before the poo canoes get you. Thank you for making my week.

Agent 54 said...

I suffer from IBS and I can feel your pain. I have many Poop stories that I will re-tell when the time is appropriate. (is that possible?)

Once at Lincoln Tech, I came back to class from a disgusting trip to the "mens" room. I said, I hate when people poop on the seat!. A student replied "which seat?". I had to say ANY SEAT!

Unknown said...

Wow. I can almost taste the smell just reading this! I don't envy you, my friend. Have fun with those Depends though!

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