Was at the NCAA women's volleyball tournament at the Sports Pavilion. Creighton swept Marquette in three tight sets decided by a total of seven points, then Minnesota swept Liberty, but not before the Lady Flames took the Golden Gophers to the edge in the third, 34-32.
But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about why I hate taking a shit in public, even if I have been resigned to taking a shit in public. When you gotta go, you gotta go, you know? But I always hate doing it because of the possibility that someone else would shit in the stall next to me. I know it's natural, but I don't need to hear a stranger's scatological noises.
I took a dump at work today because I had a banana in the morning. My mistake was going down to the ground floor bathroom. I didn't want to use the bathroom up in the floor I work at because other guys at the place I work use it, and I might be in the very awkward position of hearing my supervisor or another guy at work grunting and shitting feces through his asshole. No, thank you. I might get so disgusted I would quit right then and there.
But I keep forgetting that other people who are entering the office building would use the ground floor bathroom. And mere seconds after I went into the stall at a bit after 11, which I think is the beginning of lunch hour, what seemed like a group of people went into the bathroom to relieve themselves. One guy took the second, other stall. Thank goodness he wasn't loud. In fact, I don't remember much beyond a couple forlorn farts. But I swear that the guy following him (I don't know if he was with him or not) wanted to use my stall and saw my feet. And then there were two other guys talking to each other at the urinals. My God, it's like these men were congregating in the bathroom, even if they probably weren't together.
But anyway, onto the Sports Pavilion. I had a pizza at the eatery on the ground floor at work before leaving for the Pav in time to catch the Bluejays-Golden Eagles game at 4:30. But I thought I needed to shit. Even though I guess I could have held it in, I decided that because I had arrived well before the first match was supposed to start and the crowd would be sparse because only fans of the two non-local teams would be there, I would just dook there.
I guess I thought in passing I would have complete quiet, but I didn't. However, I don't think it would've been this hectic. I took the middle of three stalls. Someone used the one on the left, then someone used the one on the right. And this asshole on the right, he kept farting and farting and farting. Then I heard his belt buckle jingle, indicating to me that he was about to be done.
But then I heard no noise at all. Then I heard some rubbing, like he took toilet paper and starting wiping his ass with it, but wouldn't stop and kept wiping and wiping and wiping his ass. Except that what he was wiping didn't sound like his ass. More like fabric or something.
That was the noise that creeped me out and got my blood boiling. He sounded so gross in there that I was going to punch him if I saw him face-to-face and he did something weird towards me.
I bolted out the door and towards the sink. Thank Buddha he didn't leave at the same time. But he did exit while I was washing my hands. It was an old guy, who had that time of hairstyle where he was bald at the top but had long hair around the sides and back of his head. He had on these old sneakers that I saw underneath the divider between the stalls. And he had this brown pleather jacket, very 70's-like.
He shuffles out of the stall ... then leaves the bathroom without either flushing the fucking toilet or washing his fucking hands. Oh, are you fucking kidding me?!?!?! The last time I saw something that fucking gross was when I was defecating at the Ridgedale library; some guy pushed the door of the stall next to me open, dropped his pants, quickly evacuated his wet bowels, and got up and left without flushing the toilet or even wiping his ass. He was in and out in, like, five minutes. This reminded me of that, and it just about made me throw up. Now I was going to punch him if I saw him face-to-face because he already did something weird towards me. I'm glad he wasn't the Seinfeld cook.
When I was done drying my hands I held up my coat so, when I walked past that dirty fucker's stall, it would be between me and ... that. And I looked off to the other side, the right side, just to make sure.
The bathroom door was propped open for some reason. Thankfully no one was in there while I was washing my hands. But as I was leaving the bathroom some guy walked up to it, turned his head as if he finally found the men's bathroom, and passed me as he was going in. Great -- now he's going to look at that fucking pile of shit in that goddamn toilet and forever think I did that.
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