Everybody Poops. At least, that was the title of a children's book spotted by my friend K at her son's daycare. But it spoke the truth. Everybody does poop.
Are you a shy pooper? I have worked with several women over the years who will leave work and go to a gas station or drive all the way home to poop rather than just poop at work. (Obviously these women were only shy about the act of pooping and not shy about discussing their methodology.) I feel like I strike a happy medium when it comes to public pooping. If I'm at work, or Target, and I have to poop, I head to the bathroom, get the job done, and get out.
Aaaaannd intermission. Mom, you asked why I don't blog more often. Because this is what happens whenever I open my laptop to do anything besides randomly troll the internets.
What really annoys me is when people complain about work bathrooms being stinky. Now yes, of course, if the bathroom is filthy, pass it on to housekeeping. But don't be a whiny bitch about normal bathroom odors. Do you really think the person who made that smell did it on purpose? What if you are unknowingly complaining about the smell to the person who caused the smell? You might give them a complex, they will never be able to poop at work again, get constipated, develop diverticulitis, and die of sepsis. You know, best case scenario. My point is, we as humans do not possess the power to make our poop smell like the first rain of spring or freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
By the way, I was drinking my before work giant cup of coffee while composing this post and needed to take a facilities break. Here is another delay in getting this post out to you, my wonderful internet friends, ASAP.
Check out my sweet pedicured toes.
Obviously I have given pooping a lot of thought. I dealt with a lot of poop during nursing school, but those stories involve old sick people and make me sad and I'm not gonna share those. I have also held a lot of low level jobs that required me to clean public bathrooms. How do you get poop on the mirror? But my most memorable poopcident hit too close to home.
I was living in Kansas City, on the wrong side of the state line--Kansas. I moved into the cheapest apartment I could find in Johnson County. For those of you in the know, the name of the apartment complex rhymes with Fentley Blace. One Saturday afternoon I was doing laundry in the building's laundry room. I opened up the dryer...to find a large, well formed turd in the bottom. Someone dropped their pants, hopped up onto the dryer, and pooped. Super not funny. Soon after, I got an apartment on the Missouri side (North of the River, woot woot) and while I may have had squirrels in my ductwork and had my car broken into, no one ever pooped in the dryer. Missouri is classy like that.