Jesus, I hate when this happens.
I was all settled in to take a nice, long, post-lunch elimination. I'm not one one of those people who won't sit down in a stall at the office for fear of germs. Hell, it might be the only place at work that I really enjoy. Anyway, I'm all settled in. And by that, I mean that I'm in for the long haul. I'm not carrying a novel or anything, but it was certainly going to be some relaxing "me" time, but not in the perverted way that Gock is thinking.
There are a few things that will "knock me off the throne" in that situation. Some bastard climbing into the adjacent stall and befouling my biosphere with his nasty sadness can do it. What ruins it faster than that is the knock on the door from "housekeeping". Damn it. I had no more than dropped the trousers to my ankles when she showed up. I yell "Occupied!", but there's no way I can relax enough to do the Lord's work after that happens. I'm sure that the cleaning woman is standing out there, tapping her foot and timing me. My afternoon ruined, I wash up, and leave Consuela with a cursory grimace (You know, the kind guys give each other when they pass in the hall instead of smiling because that would be gay?) indicating that the "coast is now clear" for her to finish her rounds.
Why can't I ever have anything nice?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
You got a hard life fellow. Probably wouldn't happen in Spain. YOu'd be squatting on the side of the road and have diarrhea diahrea diareah how the heck do you spell it? And they no doubt think all Yanks are gay anyway. Does this thing have a spell checker?
Life is full of bitterness and...
I hate turd burglers.
O, but that does remind me of the time that Father Munch's Spanish "friend" tried to give me an enema in the confessional.
Pooping is and should be a lonely business. Long live that!
Post a Comment