You knew it was coming. I was nice enough to wait until after lunchtime to make sure I didn't ruin any appetites. Except for y'all out West who are 3 hours back of me. You may want to go chow down and then come back to this.

I took a crap at work today.

Hey, that sort of works with the Pearl Jam song "Jeremy". Let's try it out:

Jim is crappin' at work today
Jim is crappin' at work today

Just like The Crew
That stinkin AM Crew

Okay, enough levity. It's time to recount my horror. By sharing this with you I increase the total amount of revulsion in the world, thereby decreasing my own revulsion relative to the mean.

It was inevitable that I would crap at work today. As I said in my first post of the day, I had no morning routine. It was a mad race to get dressed and out of the house so there was no poopage on the homefront. My normal relaxing and eminently satisfying poop on my semi-private preserve was not to be.

The urge struck at around 8:30. I saunter into the bathroom to find it vacant. Very good. There's a light clinging stench of rotted intestine, not unlike what you would expect from a 3 week old possum carcass at the bottom of a mulch pile. A heavy application of air freshener results in an odor not unlike roses growing in a pile of shit, but the malodorous intensity is lowered to tolerable levels.

I apply the paper ass gasget to the seat and start to depants. The tail of the gasget (the part that hangs down into the bowl to pull it in when you flush) soaks through and starts to draw the whole thing down. What to do? If I let it go and put another gasget down the combined paper load may overtax the system and cause plumbing regurgitation. I flush and stand there nervously as the toilet cycles. I'm ready to walk out of the stall at any moment if somebody should walk in during my enforced wait. I'll just pretend my business was concluded and come back later.

Nobody comes in. The toilet bowl fills and the water stops flowing. I prepare the pants first, unbuttoning and unzipping, before applying a second ass gasget. At the last second I am struck with an improvisation. Instead of dipping the tail I fold it up and back. When my business is concluded I'll simply lay it forward when I flush. This way there is no chance of repeated premature gasget sinkage.

Proud of myself for this ingenuity I complete the gasget application, depants and sit down. I'm ready to get about it now. Just then the door opens. Hopefully it's somebody who just needs to use the urinal. I hear paper rustling. Oh, sweet God in Heaven, NO! It's one of the AM Crew! He takes position in the next stall with much clearing of his throat and rustling of his newspaper. I'm hurrying now. There's nothing quite so unsatisfying as a rushed crap but this is an emergency situation. Speed equals self preservation when one of The Crew is performing his morning ablutions.

And then I hear it. A sound that will haunt me to the end of my days. A sound so revolting by its very nature that it evokes the fight or flight reflex. If I had to describe this sound in a way that others, who I sincerely hope will never be exposed to it, could appreciate it I would do so thusly: It sounded like somebody poured a bucket of chum into the toilet.

And then another bucket.

And another.

I panicked then. I admit it. I am a proud man but I freely admit that I was so terrified at this point that my reptile brain took completely over. My loaf was pinched off. My hands, guided solely by primal need and years of muscle memory, struggled valiantly with wad after wad of toilet paper in a frenzied effort to achieve cleanliness. Was the paper load too great for this low flow toilet to handle? Who the hell cared?! Wipe! Wipe! Wipe!

Another bucket!!!

Wipe! Wipe! Done!!!!!

Flush. Don't wait to see if the toilet can manage - there's no time! Perfunctory splash of water on the hands. Grab a paper paper towel while leaving the bathroom.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh. Safety.

It was at this point that I realized I had been holding my breath and I had no idea how long I had been doing so. I breathed deeply of the unspoilt air as I walked to the kitchen area to wash my hands. Freedom never tasted so sweet.