Being in office teaming with catty hens does result in some touchy lavatory situations.  There are four distinct camps regarding bathroom etiquette:  

  • The Gross:  Those who do not care what anyone thinks about their gastrointestinal issues and lets loose without thought of cover-up (Lysol).
  • The Polluters:  Those who do care, so much so that they liberally hose down their stall (again, Lysol) and create a nuclear disinfectant mushroom cloud for others to inhale.
  • The Discrete:  Those who care greatly about keeping ‘innard discomfort’ to themselves, and therefore steel away to less frequented facilities with hopes of privacy.
  • The Phantom Pooper.

 The fourth is best described with a real-life example. The year was 2010, the lunch Taco Bell.  Being in the third camp, I slinked downstairs to the first floor bathroom with dreams of relief.  At first all the conditions seemed right:  Muzac cranking, and all stalls apparently empty and inviting – sanctuary!  But it wasn’t to be.  Lurking in the handicapped stall at the very end of the row was an infidel.  The two little feet that were hiding in the shadowy stall were very, very still.  It was if nobody was there at all, and my instincts were telling me to wait it out.  I therefore chose my position carefully, allowing for a 2 stall buffer, and waited for her to flush and leave.  Surely this Phantom Pooper would make a move at some point, but no – she had the patience of a sniper!

 I held out as long as I could, then completed a token flush and exited my stall. Forlornness and despair overwhelmed me for a second, but then another person entered the restroom.  Raising fist in air, I let out a sinister chuckle – you just bought yourself another duel Phantom Pooper!

 

Update 8/30:  a strange, new, yet equally vile inhabitant has come to the Island – the “Preemptive Striker!”  Apparently this woman has had major run-ins with the “Gross” (see category 1), because she has a rather drastic stall routine:  after entering her favorite station, locking the door, and applying the paper ass-gasket to the seat, she does the most peculiar thing:  she makes her “barrier!”  This involves the heavy spraying of Lysol to all open areas above and below the stall walls, basically making her the ‘lady in the disinfectant bubble’.  I wonder if she has suffered from some sort of bathroom ambush in the past that has left her deeply scarred.  My fellow savage and I have each witnessed one of these hose-downs, but, because we were already ‘installed’ (get it, get it?) we do not know who it is. 

Update 7/1:  I now know.  It is the new receptionist.  I was in ‘my’ stall, when a person came into the restroom and entered the fourth one down from me.  The hosing began and seemed to last forever.  I decided I HAD to know who this stall dowser was!  I waited patiently for her to do her thing, flush, and exit to the sink area.  She did, then I did – and now I know.  How anti-climactic.  Hell, she probably thinks I’m a Phantom Pooper!