My friends, I find I must return to the subject of work bathroom behavior.
Sorry to subject you to this, but you all being my peeps, I know I can count on you for a fair, um, shake.
Here's the situation for today.
Imagine you're in your office (not urine your office), reclining back, about to enjoy the newspaper.
You crack open the daily. Enjoy the crinkle of recycled paper. The color-fast ink that's not bleeding onto your fingers.
Something's not right.
Yes. Yes. I know what you're thinking!
How can I enjoy this paper without the aroma of sh!t??
From my coworkers, to be precise.
So you pick yourself up and head to the bathroom, where you proceed to sit on the can for 25 minutes in the hope that someone will join you and provide that coveted, sensory soup. Fine words. Fine stationary. And fine fragrances.
Now, I certainly understand folks who like to catch up on a few magazines, crossword puzzles, or classical French literature on the toilet at home. It's just you and your emissions, after all. God's in his heaven, and all is right with the world.
But why would anyone choose group defecation to propel their reading experience to unseen heights?
If you're like me, you're kind of hoping that the bathroom will be empty. Get in, get out, before another set of footsteps stroll in. Totally toilet ninja.
But then, alas, you find feet in the nearby stall.
And even more galling, complete silence.
You settle in. Get all the necessary equipment primed and ready.... Then you hear the newspaper page turn.
It all becomes clear.
This person was waiting for you!
Oh, sweet sweet happiness! Smiles and tickles for all!!
By all means, oblige, my friend. Forget the pregnant silence. Let it fly and deliver mysterious and mellifluous gifts.
It's all in the giving, my friends. Listen to those joy pages turn.*
(*We at The Clarity of Night apologize for the shameless sarcasm in this piece and would like to express the sincere hope that in the matter of workplace bathrooms, someday will we see the spirit of the anal retentives come together with the party poopers in fresh, pine-scented compromise.)