Plopping noises

Those of you who work in offices, do you ever notice the silent restroom stand-offs in which two or more people try to out-wait each other in the stalls, presumably so they can poop? I'm guessing that's what they want to do although I've never stuck around to find out. Eight years ago when I first started working in an office, I was introduced to this valuable and hilarious guide to taking a dump at work, and have even used the Astaire if I wasn't sure someone realized I was in there. But I never noticed stand-offs until I moved to this office and I think it's kind of funny. Not a bad idea either, in theory.

I mentioned this to the Hubs recently and he said the guys in his office put on no such airs. They're all out of the poopin' closet and stroll right into the restroom, newspapers in hand, and readily grunt away in their separate stalls. Then chat at the sink while washing their hands as if they hadn't just heard each other forcefully expelling waste from their no-no holes. I find this to be a little weird, albeit significantly less inconvenient. (Personally, I'm a fly-byer-- I scout the restroom until I'm sure it's empty, then scat and scoot. Ninja skillz.) It must just be women who feel awkward about those plopping noises. I used to go to a safe restroom in the bowels of our building (hardy har har) because hardly anyone went there, but then someone called it the murder bathroom because it's isolated from everything and right next to an exit, plus it did look like those creepy tile bathrooms in the movies with dark, mysterious stains everywhere.....aaaaannnnd I never went into it again.

Yesterday, I walked into the restroom as a lady was walking out and I could tell someone else was in a stall-- a pregnant silence, one stall door shut, barely perceptible camo cough. Unfortunately for her, I was in a particularly complicated outfit involving belts, buttons, straps and tiny snaps in a regrettable location (in other news, do avoid the horrendously uncomfortable Victoria's Secret bodysuit, aka glorified onesie; soft parts beware), and by the time I was finished with my business, yet another patron had entered, done what appeared to be only part of her own business and was ALSO silently waiting for me to leave. Um. Have fun with that, girls. Thank goodness I didn't have to go too. I wonder who would've let it fly first? Hmm, future social experiment? I could slip newspapers under the stalls.