Female poop etiquette #2

I’ve got a┬ whole littany of bathroom pet peeves. In fact, I’ve written an entire post┬ on poop etiquette. Consider this an┬ epilogue, for I could not possibly sum up my philosophy on bathroom habits in a few┬ trite paragraphs.

Guys, I know you┬ will probably not┬ relate to anything I am about to say, because most of you will poop anywhere and in front of anyone. This is something you take great pride in, along with the color,┬ texture and size of your kill. You’d┬ take a duke┬ in the reflecting pool of the Washington Monument if it meant three of your homies could be there to witness its girth.

Girls, on the other hand, we have issues about pooping in public. On those rare occasions when we are forced, either by nature or circumstance, to do so, the healing process can take weeks. In fact, we have been┬ known to quit talking to, if not altogether avoid,┬ people that we’ve pooped in front of.┬ I sometimes wonder if this isn’t what caused the rift between Madonna and Courtney Love. We may never know.

Now we all poop, and we all know that we all poop. But nevertheless, on any given day, you will find me holed up in the handicap bathroom stall (i.e. the crapping condo), waiting for some dumb ass to leave so I can get on with getting on. These lurkers┬ wash their hands, fluff their hair and cook┬ up skillets of corned beef hash,┬ knowing damn well that┬ I┬ am┬ sitting not ten feet away, quivering and shaking as every inch of my being denies what is the most natural of body functions.┬ I grit┬ my teeth and rock back and forth, hoping that something — anything — will swoop down and pluck this interloper out of┬ my midst┬ so┬ I can get to steppin.’

Through the cracks in the stall,┬ I can see the woman lingering. Oh good god. Hurry the fuck up! Dry your hands. Throw away the paper towels. Now head towards the door. No! No no no! Do NOT under any circumstances re-tuck your shirt. At this point, I’m beginning to re-think my modesty. Why put myself through this? Let’s just get on with the show. But by now, I’ve been damming up the flood waters for so long, that┬ a supernatural┬ amount of gas has accumulated. It seeems nature is one powerful bitch. Suddenly, the Grand Canyon doesn’t seem so impressive. Let a little pressure build up, and you’ve got yourself┬ the┬ eighth┬ world wonder.

As I ponder the magnificence that is my lower g.i.,┬ she leaves.┬ No sooner does the door click shut then BLAMMO! An unholy sound emanates from below as a poop the size of a Labrador┬ snakes out of my back end. Mission Control, I think we’ve blown an o-ring.

But that’s neither here nor there, for┬ at this moment, I feel the cool waters splashing up against my withers. Now you all know the extreme comfort that one experiences after Elvis leaves the building. Some have visions. Others hear choruses of angels. Me, I feel this sweet white wave of comfort. It embraces me like a forgiven child. In the immortal words of Steven Tyler, I could stay in this moment forever, that is, if it weren’t for the pressing need to deliver┬ the requisite┬ mercy flush.

9 thoughts on “Female poop etiquette #2”

  1. Bravo! I travel all over the world, and I can literally name the airport and stall coordinates that I consider to be qualified to recieve the most immediate gift. I have braved colon busting cramps for hours over the Atlantic, waiting for my favorite stall at Frankfurt. I have skipped the poor options for evacuation at Narita for the palatial possibilities at Changi in Singapore. Bejing in a pinch (no pun intended) but a double thumbs up for Hong Kong! The bathroom lurker is a psychologists dream…. who, in possession of their senses, would spend one more minute than actually necessary to primp and readjust in a public toilet? The dammed I say, the dammed…

  2. I whole heartedly agree that the lurker is an odd phenomenon. What’s even more strange is when guys do it. I still have no idea what causes a boy wearing pants twelve sizes too big for him and a shirt he could swim in to want to primp himself to the degree that I wish to scream out, “Get the hell out of here already!”.

    My other annoying bathroom character, is the idiot who chooses the urinal/stall right next to you despite there being one available fifty feet apart and anywhere in between. Who in their right mind CHOOSES to do their duties in as close proximity to another as possible? I’ve stopped using urinals altogether for that reason. Without fail, whenever I think “Ah, convenience you trump reason…” and start to use one… some bloke meanders in and sets up shop right next to me. Argh! I just wanted to do this in peace!

  3. After having lived in Germany for the past 7 years, I can now say that I not “anal retentive” in public toilets anymore. haha. You will be surprised at the number of people who are not ashamed to do that here. Heck, they even smoke. You’ll find that almost all public toilets even have ashtrays!!! hahaha

  4. OMG! You’ve encapsulated my experiences exactly!

    There have been times I’ve actually wanted to call out, “Please leave so I can shit!”

    But of course, that raises the embarassment factor another few degrees…

    over some time, my body has adjusted and will hold out right until I’m pulling into my driveway, and then it’s a mad dash to the privacy of my own commode… *blissful sigh*

  5. Once gain you nailed the poop issues.

    I. Just. Can’t. Poop. in public toilets. I have trained my bowels to obey my barks “stop stirring! I command you”, “wait for IT (like until we get home)”. So far they haven’t disappointed me (good job guys!)

    Everyone in my family (ever since I was child) knows I can hold it in for the looooooongest time and well, then… the bathroom at home is mine, mine alone, for several days. And NOT a pleasant place. Oh! The Relief!

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