The guy that cleans our community office bathroom has a knack.  It seems, his bathroom cleaning schedule is astrologically linked to my dumping routine.  No matter when I go in there to take care of my daily newspaper reading, in the room he comes, whistling, with his mop in hand, all the while talking to an invisible third party in Spanish.  I don’t know who his imaginary friend is.

Our bathroom consists of two heads, two urinals, and two sinks.  Not huge but a community environment none-the-less.  There isn’t the option of locking the door and having some alone-time.  Sure everyone always locks the stall door but anyone who enters can see your shoes and knows that you’re in there.  They all know what you’re doing.  As much as you might yearn for solitude, there’s always the threat of another user entering the can while you’re taking care of business.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I like to take a dump in peace.  No one around.  No one at the urinal.  No one lingering at the sink.  No one in the other stall.  Crapping is done best in a state of total solitude.  I’ve done this before so, I don’t need help or encouragement.  Pooping should be done in a state of introspection and quiet that would make Ralph Waldo Emmerson proud.  And I’ll be damned if I can make it happen with our current custodian under the building’s employ.

You see, my deuce hits predictably every day – right at 10:30 AM.  You can set the atomic clock by the regularity of my bowels.  But that’s also the time our custodian likes to clean the bathroom.  I’ve tried to stave off my routine to mix things up in hopes that he will have already finished his work when I get there.  No dice.  It seems every day, I’ll be just about ready to take the Cosby kids to the pool and in the room he’ll barge.  It’s like he doesn’t care.  I’m in there with a gut cramp clamping things off until he leaves and he just keeps going about his work.  I know he knows I’m in there but out comes his mop and other cleaning supplies.  I’m like “Dude, please!  Just give me 3 minutes and I will be out of here!  Nothing but a noxious memory.”  Nope.  The mop head will swing in under the stall door and I can see him looking at me in the reflection in the mirror through the crack in the door.  Every single day he completely destroys my dumping mojo.

To me, the dump release is the moment of truth and I just like to do it alone.  It’s the moment noises can be emitted, splashes created, and other harrowing side-effects issued that you’d just as soon not have anyone around to document or witness.  It’s not that I’m embarrassed or anything.  Everyone does it.  I realize that.  But I still would rather keep a layer of dump-anonymity with those I work with.  A shroud of mystery that no one knows about me.  I want the guys on my floor to say “Damn, you know what?  In five years I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a dump.”  Unrealistic?  Maybe.  But it’s the way I want it.

I mean, I realize that our janitor is just a guy with a dirty job to do.  He seems to do it with good humor when you consider the nature of the job.  I figure it’s the least I can do to not crush the atmosphere while he’s in there.  He does a good job and he’s a nice guy.  I like to be considerate of his need for oxygen.  I’m extending him a common courtesy by not launching a Six Flags log ride when he’s in the room.    Do unto others kind of thing.  The problem is, he doesn’t follow the same rules of courtesy.

I used to hold it while he was working until he left.  I think he was always waiting me out because he’d keep dawdling around in the room while I was in there bound up hoping he’d leave.  He was probably thinking “Fuck.  I have to clean that toilet before moving on.  I wish that guy would just evacuate and leave.”

I don’t wait for him anymore.  If he comes in I just say, “Fuck it” and release the hounds.  He should come back later if he doesn’t want to face the brunt of what I’m dishing out.  Now, I just finish business, proudly swing open the stall door like John Wayne entering a saloon, and step up to the sink for a good solid hand washing.  I’ll acknowledge him with a “Yep, sorry buddy – that was me” look on my face then on our way we both go.