And herewith, Tha Poopin' Story:
I am normally physically unable to defecate if there are other humans within a 5 mile radius of my tuckus. So it takes a certain emergency for me to even consider doing so at work. Imagine my glee when I discovered a single occupancy terlet two floors below ours at work! I called it "My Own Private Idaho" and only told a select few of its location for fear word would spread and I'd lose my beloved privacy.
So it came upon an afternoon clear that I had to make a somewhat speedy jog down to my restroom of respite. Now, trips down there weren't entirely without stress as anyone spotting me coming or going knew that I didn't belong on that floor and therefore probably knew what I was up to. I'm paranoid about my pooping, can you tell??
I pulled a little "Mission: Impossible" down the back staircase and zipped in undetected. For reasons still unknown to me, after locking the door I decided I needed to check it by turning the doorknob. The door was locked and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took my appointed seat on the throne and discovered that my shyness had gotten the best of my bowels.
I have a little theory in times like this -- I think it's best to align the plumbing, as it were. So I sat back a little bit in an effort to get a straight chute going and turned to my left to read the packaging on the extra roll of bathroom tissue resting on the handicap rail. "Hmmm....safe for septic tanks," I thought, just as the door popped open and this incredibly short woman sized me up -- and down.
I'm guessing she exclaimed an "Oh!" as she hurriedly closed the door. Well, there was no chance I was going to be able to take care of business at this point! Not only had some woman just busted in on me, the damn door was unlocked so it could happen again!! (FYI, if you're ever in our building -- the doorknobs unlock when turned from the inside. When I checked the lock, I unlocked the door. Poopie!)
But in the meantime, I said the first thing that popped into my horrified brain: "I'm sorry!!! I thought it was locked........." trailed after her as she scurried down the hallway in horror. (I didn't actually see this part, but I think it's a fair assumption).
It's a true reflection of my sense of humor that once I had composed myself I started laughing and COULD NOT WAIT to get upstairs to tell my close friends Anne and Don! When I relayed the story to Voldemort and told her about Anne and Don's reactions, she was appalled that I had told them. And that, my friends, is an example of an uptight wet blanket.
Don was kind enough to take a really bad photo of me and place it on a doorknob sign he created which read, "Shhh...Pooping in Progress" for my and my building-mates' protection.
I see the little poop-buster on occasion and I always wonder if she recognizes me. I had to have appeared much shorter to her the first time we met and I'm hoping she was mildly blinded by what she witnessed and that the image wasn't instead burned on her retinas. I just can't tell when I see her. I'm hoping I don't become so obsessed with knowing that I finally break down and ask her. 'Cause how's that going to go?
"Hey, remember that time you walked in on me pooping?!"
And no, I've been unable to seal the deal at work ever since. And we have Indian food at least once a week. Sphincter of steel, baby, sphincter of STEEL!!!