Everybody does it.

Poop is not a widely accepted discussion topic. Doodie, crap, fecal matter, shit… stool. It makes people roll their eyes and make faces. It makes stomachs churn and is generally considered to be an immature topic of conversation. Luckily, for you, I am very immature. I am here to report, sometimes poop is serious. In these cases, it would be referred to as “stool.” This is what a Doctor would call it.

But for the purposes of this blog, let’s refer to it as “doing your business.”

I do not, as a general rule, “do my business” at work. Most women don’t.

Men, however, have NO problem doing “their business” at work. It’s almost like a sport for them. They announce it and bring reading material.

The “doing of one’s business” at work, sometimes, cannot be helped. In the case of illness, pesto or some tainted clam chowder, it may be unavoidable.

At my first job, a small promo agency, we worked in a “house” type building. There were two single bathrooms. They were like a ½ bath you would find in ones’ home.

Even though there was privacy, in that, you didn’t have to “do your business” in a room with other people, as one would in a multi-stall type situation, there was a difficulty with “hang time” of said “business.” And due to the floor plan, it wasn’t easy to blame the “hang time” on a previous user.

In fact, one time, one of my co-workers clogged the toilet, flushed and ran, and the whole shebang overflowed and came through the lights into the dental office on the floor below ours.

Bet you didn’t plan on getting THAT with you cleaning, Mr. Feinstein. Swish annnnnd spit.

You know the feeling, don’t deny that you do. You flush. The water rises. And rises. You grab the plunger, if available. And rises. You panic. Suddenly, sweet relief washes over you as the material clogging the toilet, miraculously, changes mass, admits defeat and hi-tails it down the pipe. Well, this time it didn’t. And there wasn’t a plunger available.

There was an older lady, named Patty, who worked with us. And by older, she was, probably, in her 50’s- but everyone else at the company was SUPER young- the managing partners were only in their late 30’s, so she seemed much older to us. She has since passed away, god rest her soul, she was “The Dorm Mother” corralling this gang of “kids.”

The company grew larger, and we outgrew our little office house and we moved into an grown-up office building. Gone were the single bathrooms. We now had STALLS, which is a whole different dynamic. While one always considers “the hang time” issue, in a stall situation, you can totally blame it on someone else. By the same token, in a stall situation, one must consider the actual ACT, and the sounds associated with the act.

Back to “Men.” They have no shame. My old boss, Jimmy, used to tuck his NY Post under his arm and proudly announce that he would be “back in a few minutes.” This was code for “I am going to drop a deuce.”

Going to drop the kids off at the pool

He would return, sans “Post,” and get on with his day. Sometimes, rarely, he would announce a return trip. “I need a RW!” (a re-wipe) and again, he would march down the hall to take care of business. I know the RW is gross to think about, but it IS a reality, granted, I am not sure why I needed to know about it.

Consider if every man, in a 200 person office building takes reading material with them to the can.

That is a LOT of reading material- it’s like a smelly, ransacked Hudson News. And there are no magazine racks, or at least I’m assuming there are no racks or baskets to organize the reading material. Apparently, at one point, things got out of hand in there.

The Mens Room at my office

Poor Patty sent an email to all of the men in our office instructing them to either dispose of, or remove their reading material, or to keep things organized in the crapper.

As an aside, we, at one point, had a trans-sexual (male to female) in the building. This was the mid-90’s, in Connecticut. It was not a sight one sees every day. Also, this poor man was on his way to being a very unfortunate looking woman.

These two look good next to what we had on our hands

Not to mention that it was completely awkward to see her in the bathroom daily. But that’s a whole other story…

At another job, we had a single bathroom in our wing, used by both men and women. An inside, windowless room, shared by 7 people. In that case, one used prayer and a ridiculous amount of air freshener.

Seriously.  Heed his warning.

I ate a lot of cheese that year so I wouldn’t be forced to “do my business” at work. But let me tell you, it was an eye opener. Or an “eye water-er” in some cases.

It was at this job that a proper English gentleman (not my husband) introduced me to a website called “ratemypoo.com.” Where you can post photographs of your “business” and have people rate it. Sort of like Yelp for the toilet. I have no idea if it is still inexistence and frankly I am too afraid to check. And I wouldn’t recommend you do either, it, truly, is disgusting.

My current company moved buildings about a year ago. In our old building, we had a combo situation. One single bathroom, and a Multiple Stall restroom. I used to refer to the single bathroom as my “F.O.S.” or Fortress of Solitude.

In fact, sometimes, I would just go into the FOS as an escape. If I was having a tough day and needed to relax for a second. I would head into the FOS. Some people had the nerve to “do their business” in my FOS and it could be brutal. Some of the people I work with should, seriously, consider changing their diets. Brutalis Maximus.

Although, the building had this same set-up on each floor, so it things were particularly pressing or you had a feeling that it could be an “episode” you could just go to another floor. Let THEM deal with it.

In our current building, we have a stall set up. No singles. No hiding. No solitude.

On the second floor of the office, some of the ladies have brought in MANY air fresheners and sprays. It is smell overload in there. In fact, all of those mixed fragrances might be worse than the smell they are attempting to cover.

I, however, am on the third floor. Our bathroom is bare bones. No flowery fresheners. Just one can of industrial “cinnamon scented” spray, labeled for “offensive odors.”

I like to call it “Cinna-sh*ts.” Because it really doesn’t negate the smell, it just mixes with the cinnamon. Cinnabon it is not. More like “CinnaBOMB”

Nope.  Not even close.

Last week, on Wednesday, I was sick. Like, really sick. I thought it was ramifications from the “Rodeo Burger” I had for lunch in our cafeteria.

Giddy up

The following evening (after everything below transpired) I was in the ER with severe abdominal pain and was diagnosed with an intestinal infection.

Oh. The Humanity.

Let’s just say, things in the Southern Hemisphere weren’t, exactly, within my control. I found myself with some “urgent business” to take care of and had to use the stalls. It was not my choice, it, truly, was something that could not be helped. I remind you: I was sick.

(BTW, I googled “Intestinal Infection” to see if I could get a funny picture to post. I do NOT recommend it.)

I lurked around the bathroom. I slipped inside. Success. It was empty. 4 stalls, no waiting. I sequestered myself in the “Handicapped” stall. I felt that this situation could handicap me if I didn’t tend to it immediately, thus I felt my choice was appropriate. I remind you: I was sick.

In the stall, things happened very rapidly. I did a few “courtesy flushes,” but then I heard it. Someone came in. The problem is, I wasn’t even close to closing this “business deal.” I remind you: I was sick. My plan was, I’ll just “wait it out.” However, another person came in. Then another. I soon realized, “waiting it out” was NOT going to be an option.

I continued to provide the maximum amount of “courtesy” I could, but I’m not going to lie to you- this “business” was of greater magnitude than the average courtesy flush could support- ODOR-wise.

Although, I must say, I covered the “audio portion” quite successfully.

Nice job with the audio, Krimu!!

Friendly reminder: I was sick.

I quickly changed my game plan. 3 stalls full, me being in the fourth, if I timed it correctly, I could wrap up my “business meeting, “ exit, wash my hands and scurry.

Ok, I thought, that’s what I’ll do. I threw in a little prayer to Jesus, Buddha, Satan- whoever would listen, to let me get out unscathed.

In the midst of all of my prayer, I didn’t hear the door open again. As I exited my stall, and this lovely lady named Claudette, strolled, unsuspectingly, right into my stall.

It was like a kitten running into traffic. Dropping a guinea pig in a vitamix. A baby bird flying into a jet engine.


Poor Claudette. She is one of the sweetest people EVER and I just gassed her. I was torn. On one hand, everybody does it. On the other hand, not everyone does what I just did. I remind you: I WAS SICK.

Do I say something?

Do I remain silent? I felt like Jean Valjean. Or, maybe, more accurately, JOHN ValJohn.

Will she know? Sh*t. What am I delusional? Of course she will know. I just sealed a business deal in there- and it was of epic, Trump-Sized proportions. I WAS SICK.

I felt TERRIBLE. But I said nothing and left. (I did, quickly, wash my hands.) I was sick.

An hour later, I attended a team meeting and as it was nearing its end, I didn’t feel right. The Rodeo had started again…and this time they called in the bucking broncos. I remind you: I was sick.

I made a mad dash to the restroom- the one on the second floor, with all of the air fresheners. PERFECT. Did I explain? I was sick.

Well… maybe not so. Please see the IM below.

I returned to my desk and IM’d my friend, Meetu. We have been known to talk about this type of thing, so I wanted to get her advice.

Kristin / [3:06 PM]:
i’ve had some issues today
Meetu [3:08 PM]:
what happened
Kristin [3:08 PM]:
they are butt related
Meetu [3:08 PM]:
Kristin [3:08 PM]:
well I had an episode
3rd floor
Meetu [3:09 PM]:
good- keep it up there
Kristin [3:09 PM]:
covered the actual incident fairly well, I think. Maybe.
Meetu [3:09 PM]:
u stole our big red spray can?
Kristin 3:09 PM]:
but then I exited the stall and poor Claudette walked in there after me
I was like…Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Meetu [3:09 PM]:
Kristin [3:10 PM]:
i can’t be responsible for collateral damage
Meetu [3:10 PM]:
she got a wiff of ur noxious fumes up her nose
Kristin [3:10 PM]:
so then in the Team mtg… i felt something brewing
so I, quickly, got out of the meeting and ran into the bathroom on the second floor
and freaking Jill is in there, puttering around
Meetu [3:11 PM]:
Kristin [3:11 PM]:
and she left and then there was a NON-STOP stream of people
it was like grand central station
Meetu [3:11 PM]:
i hate it when that happens
Kristin [3:12 PM]:
it was not good. then Samantha came in and was, like, lingering. giving herself a home facial, a spa pedicure and botox- lingering. LINGERING.
Meetu / [3:13 PM]:
i hate it when ppl lounge in the bathroom
get in and out
Kristin [3:13 PM]:
there could be some fallout, just be forewarned
Meetu [3:14 PM]:
dont u think enough fell out of ur butt already?
theres MORE????
Kristin [3:14 PM]:
there could be
I think that Rodeo Burger from the cafeteria yesterday did it…
there’s a rodeo going on in my small intestine

The Next Morning:
I was feeling really badly. I was in severe pain, but I STILL was attributing it to the “Rodeo Burger.” Meetu IM’d me to have lunch with her. It was pizza day, and it’s so delicious from our work café. I don’t know what they do, but I do NOT miss Pizza Day. My intestines could be on the OUTSIDE of my body and my arms could have fallen off from leprosy and I would still go to Pizza Day. Meetu and I planned a romantic date in the cafeteria. She IM’d me an emoticon of a bouquet of flowers to signify we were having a “date.” This is the IM that followed.

Kristin [11:19 AM]:
oh, i thought you were trying to make this place smell better
poor Claudette
I haven’t seen her since
Meetu / [11:19 AM]:
u think she survived
Kristin / [11:19 AM]:
i don’t know
i’m worried
Meetu / [11:20 AM]:
i dont think u can report her missing until at least 48 hours
Kristin / [11:20 AM]:
oh. right.

A few hours later:
Kristin [1:22 PM]:
oh no
Meetu [1:22 PM]:
wat happened
Kristin / [1:22 PM]:
try to find Claudette on IM
Meetu / [1:23 PM]:
shes not there?
Kristin / [1:23 PM]:
look for her, she’s been offline for 21 hours
Meetu /BDF LGA [1:24 PM]:

Thankfully, a few hours later, I saw Claudette using the photocopier. I would have felt REALLY badly if I had killed Claudette.

As I said, later that evening I went to the Emergency Room due to my “business.” Both finished and unfinished. I WAS SICK. (Just reminding you.)

One must bear in mind two thoughts.
1) Everybody poops.
2) Better OUT than IN

P.S. I was sick.  Seriously.

I thought I would share this sign as a helpful reminder:


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7 Responses to “Everybody does it.”

  1. ekgo Says:

    Poop is one of my favorite things to discuss! I’ve not yet finished this post, but I wanted to assure you there are more of us who have an interest in the subject and, as far as I know, none of us are proctologists or scatalogists.
    Perhaps you’ve visited Normal for Norfolk’s blog? She loves to talk shit!
    I look forward to reading the rest of this at lunch and I thank you for posting it.

  2. ekgo Says:

    Ok. NOW I’m done…and I’m crying. Some of the tears are empathy tears – and just by the by, wth is wrong with people! My problem is when I’m the only one in the room and I’ve just finished using the stall nearest the sink allowing me to block it with my body when I wash my hands so that no one can go in after me without having to squeeze around my entire backside but then one person walks in and does JUST THAT! Squeezes around my entire backside to get into the stall I’ve just left, the one I’m blocking, when there are four other empty stalls available? WTH? – but most of them are “I can’t laugh loudly at work so I’ll just squelch my giggles” tears, complete with squeaking.
    Again, thank you for posting this.

  3. Erika Marie (@ErikaMarie) Says:

    I still don’t admit to pooping. In fact, I told my boyfriend that girls do not toot… We whisper secrets in our panties.

  4. Masala Chica Says:

    I hate when I am in there and people come in and start chatting. Forget about pooping. I can’t even pee. I really don’t know why people can’t effing go and talk in the hall and how long it takes to wash your god damn hands.

    By the way – hope you’re not sick anymore!


    P.S. I have been married for 7 years and my husband has never heard me toot. Not once. Is that weird?

    • krimu Says:

      Unfortunately, in my world, all mystery is gone. My husband of 7 years, knows all of my habits. And then is thrilled when I put them in my blog. 🙂 Thanks for reading.

      PS. I was sick. 🙂

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