C'mon! Where's the Modesty?!?

It is simply human nature that at least once a day, we just have to go to the grounded lavatory and relieve ourselves. And it is much more so especially after a hefty lunch. Well, today is no different than what's normal, other than the fact that I am actually in downtown at my office instead of working from home.

I knew the time would come after having a huge Patty Melt for lunch at Poag Mahone's, famous for its burgers and anything beef. So much so that they even have a Poag Mahone's Burger Eater's Bill of Rights!

Anyway, as I'm the germaphobe type of a guy, I generally avoid using restrooms outside of the comforts of my home. But it didn't bother me today, because I knew the restroom at the I B M office is very nice and, dare I say, kind of upscale. I mean, it's even got a nice little couch, which I have only seen in women's restrooms at fancy restaurants! Not only do they provide nice cowboy hats (those silly protective paper you use to cover the toilet seats), but they also provide real toilet paper instead of thin sandpaper that is just as absorbent as a plastic sheet. I know it is definitely not Quilted Northern (my favorite!), but I think it is definitely Charmin. Two-ply, no less!

I view my number two breaks at the I B M office as something of a R&R moment. I would go in there, all nice, quiet and comfortable, pull my trousers down, and relax. While others may go on a couple cigarette breaks lasting 10 minutes each a day, the number two break is my equivalent. This is where I would take my time, no rush, and simultaneously get on the Internet with my cell phone and catch up on news on current events and popular blogs.

So earlier I went for my number two break. Although I had already gotten snug and comfortable, I had yet to begin my business before some guy who sounded larger than life waltzed into the decently-sized restroom. I was occupying the last stall, yet this guy chose to go into the stall next to me, of all the other possible choices! And we all know that men's dress shoes have this slight clicking sound to them, right? Well, this guy's strides were so heavy that I swear a woman in high heels was in the men's restroom!

I'm not a mean person, so I was not quick to judge. At least not on the mere loud clicking noises he produced with his suave, shiny shoes. But what happened next irritated the shit out of me. Literally!

I don't know about common etiquettes typically exercised in women's restrooms, but I believe what happened next was definitely beyond the boundaries of what I consider normal. First, he simply had to push so hard that his fart echoed throughout the walls of the restroom. I swear I thought the partition walls between our stalls shook. Next, he felt the need to high drop his things that you may have mistaken the restroom in an office high rise for the restroom in a swimming pool with a dive board, where a fat kid just jumped in.

Grr! What is this guy trying to prove?!? The toughest man on earth?!? Despite what he did, I tried to enjoy reading a blog. But he quickly interrupted me by yanking on the toilet paper so hard that the toilet paper holder rattled like a poor kid shaking a steel piggy bank violently. Without missing a beat, he blew his nose as if he was practicing for a tuba solo. What the hell is up with this guy?!? A competition to see who is the loudest?!?

And of course, it is simply natural, and biological, that once in a while a fart would come along when you go drop the kids off at the pool, so I let out a gentle fart. Sorry to say this, but I like modesty. Not to mention that I don't like pushing my fart out so hard that your ass cheeks hurt from the ripple effects of the sonic boom. But immediately after I let out a whimper of a fart, the guy next to me had the audacity to chuckle! Oh, this guy thinks I'm an import, eh?!? [Import cars typically have a joke of a horn, compared to American made cars that have authority sounding horns.] Then he proved my theory correct: He let loose a loud fart, again, as to assert his authority. Not to mention the misguided idea of being on top of the societal hierarchy.

I was so turned off by this jack ass that I simply wiped up and got the hell out of there. But while I was washing my hands, I heard him clean up and get out of his stall. As I looked at him through the mirror, this short guy just looked at me and smiled.

WTF?!? Obviously this crazy guy has got some issues! I can't believe some guy suffering from the Napoleon Syndrome was competing with me on shitting!

Worse? On the grand scheme of things, he was technically a coworker of mine, even though I don't know him. I might venture to guess that he probably was in sales.