Totes Rando

Dear Patron In The Stall Next To Me,
I know you’re there. I can see your penny loafers under the stall.  It’s a shame they don’t go all the way to the floor; oh well.  So I’m here waiting, waiting for you to let loose.  Come on. You know you want to.  That guy who was taking a piss is washing his hands.  He’ll be out the door in less than thirty seconds.  Don’t make me unload first, I’m shy.  It’s an emotional problem, okay?  My father never hugged me, my mother never loved me, my sister died in a terrible tricycle accident.

This is starting to get awkward, I saw your nervous two-step.  Pitter patter pitter patter—this ain’t no tap dance.  Let it out buddy.  I’ve got a meeting to get to, just trying to loosen the burden before I spend twenty minutes talkin’ about our underserved Asian market.

What’d you eat last night, Taco Bell, TGI Fridays?  Yeah, you’re a Bloomin’ Onion kind of guy.  Listen pal, I’ve got an extra large four-dollar coffee, lotta cream, lotta sugar, under my belt and I just smoked my last Camel Light.  You ever stuff a turkey ‘til it busts?
I’m scared. Sweat is dripping off my forehead and landing on my pasty white thighs.  You’re wearing penny loafers for crying out loud.  You’re definitely older than me and therefore should be completely unabashed when it comes to this thing.  Don’t pussyfoot around it; I haven’t heard a drip.  Don’t try and pretend like you’re just sitting down to piss.

GOD MAN, would you just FUCKING go! Don’t play coy with me.  See my foot tapping, hear those grunts? I’m about to blast off.  I’m going Apollo 13 on your ass in five seconds.

Five.  You weak, shallow, shell of a man.  Your kids won’t even go to community college.

Four.  I suppose if I had a catheter, I’d be pretty quiet about it too.

Three.  Ah, poor little baby has to number two but he can’t pinch one out.  Want mommy to help?

Two.  Seriously, we’re both adults, the competitive days are over. High school lacrosse was fifteen years ago.  It’s time to man up and go with ease.

You did it, you won.  Are you happy, you inconsiderate, lolly-gagging, toilet-time raping son of a bitch?

Flush.

Who are you kidding, I didn’t hear anything.  Thought you pulled a fast one on me, nice try.

“Sheila, is that you in there?”

“I’ll be right out.”

“Is someone in the other stall?”  My stomach is churning in its own wretched filth.

“I think so, I haven’t heard anything, maybe the door’s stuck.”

“I really have to pee before this stupid Asian meeting thingy. Hello, is anyone in there?”

OH MY GOD.  There is no way.  This only happens in movies.  Could I have gone into the women’s bathroom in my mad race to the stall?  Was my vision that corrupted by my need to defecate?

One.

We have lift off.