Breathing heavily, his feet up and down in a voracious hurry, “Oh my God I’m about to burst.” The sweat protruding from his brow. “Oh boy boy oh boy”. He enters into the men’s lavatory. He opens the first stall he can see.
I sit at the toilet with liquid remains gurgling in my stomach. Cigarettes and coffee chaser breakfast combined with leftover cabbage from a three day old Chinese take out, my bowels ready to burst in a fusion of liquid pungency. As the water splashed, my hands collapsed around another in a long procession of self help books. A scowl furrowed upon the shame I felt at myself having my pants around my shins.
“Oh sorry” the man proclaims while closing this man’s stall door. Off again he quickly shuffled his feet in the search of sanctuary to profuse his bowels. The stall next door opened where he quickly planted himself on its seat.
I look down at the page to see the line I left off from.
“Does that embarrass you?”
I became flustered. That transpiring of events from the man opening the door just at that moment to those words sent me into a volley about the meaningfulness of this life. And it all came about by taking a shit or maybe it was giving a shit. Ontological or semantically obsessed I get bogged down by word structure that many fail to grasp.
Every person who has ever lived has shit at least twice a week for their entire lives. If they don’t shit, the end result is death. Why then this stigma against being seen defecating in public? The concept made exceptionally less sense the more I contemplated on how this could come about.
This cultural custom must cease to exist! These self help books seem to dwell on just to live and let live. I closed the book and entered into a new reality. I figured I could help others out as much if not more than any self help book could with my new found foresight.
Upon finishing wiping, I put two feet on the seat of the toilet and proclaimed to my next door partner, “Way to sustain life buddy! Good job!”
The other man maneuvered his hands to cover whatever amounts of bear bottom half sit and looked up in bewilderment at the man’s gaze from above. “What the fuck you doing?
“Just, you know, giving a shit about your shit. Good job!”
Back to my stall where I exited out the door to wash my hands. Not the outcome I desired. Yet, I know there must be a way to change people’s opinion about this shitting anomaly.
“I swear to God shit gets stranger every God Damn day.” The man in the stall was heard saying out loud as I left the bathroom.