FLOP-n-Tales: Doing Business at Your Business

As always in the work-place, preparation is key


 

by The F.L.O.P.

 

Have you ever been sitting at your desk, reading emails or concentrating on a report, when you suddenly feel and hear the unmistakable rumble that signifies intestinal distress?  Show me someone who answers  “no” to this, and I’ll show you someone who’s full of shit (pun partially intended).

Following this moment, there’s the inevitable mental pause.  “Um, what was that?”…“Where did it come from?”…“What did I eat?”…“What time is it?”…“How bad is it?”…“Did anyone else hear that?”

All good questions.  Now you have to decide – What do you do?  Do you go?

Depending on who you ask, you’ll hear a variety of answers.

1 – “Sure!  If you need to go, you just go.  No worries.”

2 – “Well, not if I can possibly hold it until I get home!”

3 – “Yeah, on occasion.  It’s not good for your internal organs to hold it in.”

4 – “Not really.  It’s such a pain in the ass (no pun intended) to deal with.”

In case you haven’t already guessed – the odd numbered answers came from men.  The even numbers – women.

Sorry, its just never sexy

As I hear it, this isn’t an issue for men.  They feel free to unleash the fury of the turd no matter what time of day, no matter who might be listening or in range of poo-scented glade.  They even brag or offer “congratulations” for the obscenely difficult BM.  Men.

For women, this is an entirely different experience.  It’s a big no-no to go-go in the ladies room.  It’s like wearing white pants after labor-day in the Upper West Side of New York City; it’s socially unacceptable.

Girls don’t want to get caught causing a stink in the ladies room, and we go out of our way to avoid it or mask it.

I’m sure there are many women out there who would agree with me that when you really have to go, finding a completely empty ladies room is one of the best feelings in the world.  However, there’s no telling how long this euphoria will last, so we must prepare for the inevitable cover-up.   The potential for a stealth-mission could be imminent.

One way to prep in this situation is to get all the balls of toilet paper ready to go and in your hand.  The sound of repeated tissue-unrolling and tearing is an unmistakable sign that you’ve got a rear to clean. Avoid it at all costs.

Another handy device is, of course, “The Flush” – definitely a friend to women everywhere.  The noise of the flush, especially one of an industrial commode, can cover up the squeak of a toot or, god forbid, the sound of a plop.  And of course, there’s the “Courtesy Flush”, accepted by both genders with equal aplomb.

While I’m on the subject, can anyone please explain to me how the “three seashells”  from "Demolition Man" work? That would be great, thanks

The only other way to avoid being caught?  Wait her out.  Whether she was there first or whether she arrived mid-dump, be the epitome of patience.  Once she leaves, you’re free and clear to finish up and exit the stall.  Be wary of this technique – for if SHE also has to go, she might try to wait YOU out.  In that case, you find yourself stuck in an awkward tacit carnival-style dance of “who has the weaker sphincter?”

****(And ladies – help me out here.  If when you enter the ladies room you see a stall in use – and as you go about your #1 business you don’t hear movement from the other stall – please assume that the other lady is waiting for privacy and hurry up and get out.  No dawdling at the mirror with makeup and hair.  You Dawdlers suck.)

While my wisdom seems quite profound to Ryno’s Hornballs, most women KNOW the above tricks…so we’re really not fooling anyone but ourselves.  If we hear extra tissue-unrolling?  We know what you’re doing.  If there’s an errant or extra flush?  We know what you’re doing.  If you’re in there too long and there’s no signs of impending standing and redressing?  We know what you’re doing.  Women.

Damn Girl, how big is your flip-phone?

So now that we’ve covered the discomfort of the commodes of commerce, is there ever a good time to do business while you’re “doing business”?

My take?  No.  Toilet-time is sacred time.  It’s a time to meditate, to be one with the human body you inhabit, to focus on expelling all the bad, etc.  (Also a great time for Angry Birds and Words with Friends, but that’s not the point.)  However, not all agree with me…and of course, the opposing argument comes from a man.

There’s a guy at work – let’s call him, Bob – who sits near me (though we do not work on the same team).  One day, Bob’s boss – let’s call him, Ted – came by looking for Bob.  Ted asked me, “is Bob around?”  I looked quickly at the clock and saw it was 2:30pm – too late for Bob to be at lunch, but just about the right time for Bob’s habitual mid-afternoon deuce-break.  I responded simply, “yeah, he’s around here somewhere.”

Now, I assumed Ted got the hint and would check back later, but either Ted didn’t think of it, or, like most men, he doesn’t give a crap when other men are take a crap on the can.

Oh I love today's Crap!

As Bob tells it, he was “doing business” at the office when Ted came into the bathroom and called Bob’s name.  Bob did not reply – just sat silently.  Then Ted left.

Moments later, Bob’s cell phone rang.  Guess who?  Bob hit ignore and went back to his business.

Afterwards, Bob went into Ted’s office:

Bob: Hey, you’re looking for me?

Ted:  Yes, I was.  And I knew you were in the bathroom too – I saw your shoes.

Bob: Well, when I’m in the bathroom, you know, I’m in the bathroom.  I’m not working.

Ted: Well, yeah you are working.

Knowing Ted, I’m sure he mean “you should be in corporate-work mode all the time,” but the whole idea of that (that he wanted to talk business while Bob was mid-“business”) weirds me out.

So instead, I choose to live in my little bubble and pretend that Ted was just trying to be cheeky.  Leave me alone.

A silly story, I know – but another prime example of how [most] guys don’t really care if other guys are giving birth to brown baby boys.  And in response, I declare from this moment forth:  If a co-worker ever tries to talk to me while I am sitting in the ladies room?  I’m going to push as hard as I can, make as much noise as I can, cause as much ruckus as I can, and then say, “Yup, how can I help you?”

"Psst. Can you spare a copy of The Horn?"

F.L.O.P. stands for the First Lady of Poker aka FLOPinTails and FLOPtimus Prime. FLOP was naturally resistant to her nickname, as it stirred images of a flacid penis.  However, much like a flacid penis, this nickname eventually grew on her. She was raised by an older brother to be “one of the guys”, but keenly aware of when to unleash the cleavage for manipulative purposes. 

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