One Deposit, One Return...

Preface: I can't believe I'm going to write about this, but its been several months now, and the healing has begun...

I had an accident (of sorts) at work and it was really embarassing for me.

Realize that I am the guy who doesn't get embarassed by much. Ever. I have even threatened- albeit in a joking manner- to leave a turd in a urinal in the front office bathroom in order to express my displeasure with our current work environment. That said, what happened was not on purpose and I am only now laughing about it.

I have a favorite stall at work, as I'm sure everyone does. It is stall #1 in the less-used bathroom on our production floor. Its the 'cozy' stall- not the capacious 'handi-capable' cubicle. I like it because it is decidedly the stall less travelled, its well ventillated, and the noise from the shop floor covers any embarassingly loud, ahem, personal moments.

Unfortunately, a couple months ago it was out of order. Some disgusting fucker(s) had not only clogged the damn thing, but then also managed to dry-dock a massive log in the bowl. The crap just festered there, with the barest covering of tissue, thus polluting the bathroom entirely- much to my digestion (and olfactory) dismay. A 'do not use' sign was put up- as if it was really necessary- and I found a new location to do my business.

About a week later, I revisited my favorite stall and Lo! No 'do not use' tag and no dry-docked submarine. I rejoiced inwardly, and then outwardly by christening the bowl. My bowels were in an unfortunate state of turmoil that day, and things weren't pretty when I got done. I think it was a seven wiper. Anyway...

When I flushed, the horror began.

Because I work in a factory, the toilets on the floor are the industrial 'puppy flusher' variety. You know the kind, where the air pressure in the vacinity noticably drops during the flush due to the enormous amounts of suction. That day it simply wasn't the case.

Evidently the toilet was NOT fixed. The flush was weak and I watched as the bowl filled in slow motion; the befouled water gently rising to the top edge of the porcelain. I frantically jiggled the chrome handle, but to no avail. You just can't stop those industrial toilets once they get going.

"Please stop! Oh, please, please, PLEASE!" I was quietly chanting. And then just like New Orleans, the water crested the rim and started to overflow.

"SHIT!" I yanked up my pants and hastily was trying to fasten my belt buckle while backing away from my anal blasphemy. Floaties were streaming down the sides of the bowl and forming an ever-expanding cesspool on the tile floor.

I burst out of the stall and didn't even wash up. A quick look confirmed that nobody was in the bathroom at the time, so I made a hasty (yet nonchalant) retreat back to my office. Even though I am pretty sure nobody saw me leave, it still felt like a complete walk of shame. I had not only defiled my favorite stall, but I had simply walked away from the mess!

Needless to say, I avoided that bathroom like the plague for about 3 weeks, and each time I passed it I would hang my head in shame. Occasionally I would see our housekeeping crew working in there and I would feel an brief, yet intense stab of guilt. What must they have thought when they saw it? Oh, the humanity!


UPDATE: Its been a couple months now, and "Swirlie" and I have made up. She's working just fine again- up to full strength, even. But every so often when I think about it, I do a 'test flush' before sitting. If I don't feel my ears pop, I quietly leave and find a new place to make a deposit.