View Full Version : Restroom Rumble (warning: scatalogical)

June 25th, 2014, 03:28 AM
After lunch today at work I went to the restroom in dire need of release. It so happens a new Costco just opened near me, and I've become addicted to Roasted Seasoned Seaweed. It makes for a nice briny, low-carb snack. However, the seaweed exits with the same urgency that grass clippings fly from the side discharge of a Lawn-Boy.

When I get to the restroom, though, there's a bigger problem. Contrasting against the wall's speckled gray tile, I see a huge fly. It looks like a species of biting fly that dines on horse blood. If it's just a housefly, it's the André the Giant of houseflies, or Dr. Seth Brundle after his transformation. I stand there frozen outside the stalls, contemplating, clenching, imagining its proboscis plunging into my pasty haunches.

I weigh my options. There are two men's rooms in the building. On the plus side, both stalls in this one are vacant, because my gurgling labor pains tell me the resulting rectal ruckus might bump the needle on local seismographs.

On the other hand, I could go down the hall to the second restroom and avoid the fly entirely. But what if it's occupied? If a fellow employee in the adjacent stall is startled by my peals of bubbling thunder, as if the mantle is venting noxious gases through a caldera, they'll never forget the scuffed, burgundy shoes they spy under the partition as the stench seeps into their business casuals. Afterwards, every hallway glance from that co-worker will come with an implied "So, it was you!"

As the clamor in my colon forces me to stay put, I realize it's too late to switch restrooms. The raw fear of soiling myself at work prevents me from venturing a clumsy, legs-together shuffle down the hall.

I decide to act. First, my buttocks redouble their efforts, holding fast like the last two Spartans at Thermopylae. Then on a nearby shelf, I pick up a spare roll of individually-wrapped toilet paper and launch it at the monster on the wall.

Now, you might doubt the potency of institutional-grade toilet paper as a preemptive strike, but its coarse grit was renowned amongst my co-workers for drawing blood, but not in battle.

I hit the fly square, a bulls-eye, but it shrugs off the blow like an ill-trodden cockroach and takes off for a strafing run at my head. I grab the roll from the floor and wave it in the air, thrusting it toward the fly like a lion tamer's chair. When the fly lands on the wall, I immediately get off another shot, which it dodges. I make sure to catch the roll on the rebound, lest it arc over a partition and fall into a commode, becoming a pulpy mess and leaving me defenseless.

The beast lands again unharmed near the ceiling above the sink, out of direct reach. If you had a magnifying glass, you could've seen it gloating. Trying to make peace with the fly's presence, I rationalize, "Ah, now you know I'm no easy mark. Not worth it.", so I set course for the farthest stall, waddling speed.

At last unbuttoned, pants lowered, with my fundament firmly fixed, I relax and my bowel disgorges itself. After the last echo subsides, I'm struck with a fresh concern- I can't see the fly from where I'm sitting, but now floating a few inches below me is a fly's ambrosia, a larval Shangri-La.

If my feeble human nose is this overwhelmed by the cloud enveloping me from the bottom up, then the fly's finely tuned sensory pits must be blaring like a klaxon. Its whisker-like legs must be rubbing in anticipation of whatever it is giving off that intoxicating smell of dead mouse soaked in sour milk with notes of sweaty feet stomping on rotten eggs.

At this point I grimace, not just from the smell, but because when I entered the stall I was too distracted to notice that both wall-mounted toilet paper dispensers were empty. The only way to clean myself without scuttling like a crab, legs apart, to the next stall is unilateral disarmament, wad by wad. So I quickly unwrap the roll and wipe as fast as I can, looking above me like an RAF radar scanning for a Messerschmitt while reluctantly glancing down to check my progress, since I know it'll attack when I'm not looking.

After a bourgeois double-flush, I secure myself back inside my polo shirt and jeans while continuing to survey the gridded sky of chalky tiles for signs of the enemy. I exit the stall, my parchment claymore now shrunk to a stiletto, and see that the fly hasn't moved from its spot. Above the sink. Since my unburdening clearly falls beyond that natural continuum of defecation that ranges from shart to foot-long floater, there's no way to flee the scene without attending to proper hygiene.

So I creep to the wash basin, giving the fly the squintiest glare that's humanly possible, like Clint Eastwood with heat vision. I then set down the remainder of the roll on the back of the sink and turn the spigot, wetting my hands in preparation for the soap. My stance slackens a bit when the fly is unperturbed by three squeaky pushes on the soap dispenser. A small kernel of hope loosens the tension in my forehead.

I'm fooled. Mid-lather, the fly leaps off the wall and buzzes me. Instinct takes over and I grab the shrunken roll and chuck it, but I'm horrified as the roll unspools and misses wide, the loose end being stuck to my wet, soapy hand.

I'm now practically disarmed, forced to flail around a billowing streamer of toilet paper stretching all the way across the room to the cardboard core lying in the opposite corner. As I keep the fly at bay, I can't help but wonder how this would be interpreted if a co-worker walks in at this exact moment. In the mirror above the sink, I see an obese rhythmic gymnast swirling a ribbon in the final flourish of his olympic program, except his chosen visual medium isn't composed of shimmering silk, but dimpled two-ply. Cutting my losses, I scrape the wet end of the strip off my hand, assume a defensive crouch, and back out the door.

I rinse my hands in the other men's room.

June 25th, 2014, 01:58 PM
hard to keep reading about the subject matter but i stayed with it and i guess your words were more important in the end..second piece today i've read concerning bodily functions but this read so well.

June 25th, 2014, 06:03 PM
Thanks for the comments, escorial. This was my first attempt at a short story, so I used a personal anecdote as a framework and embellished it.