Yet Another Post About Cack
Whilst lunching at my favourite inexpensive Mexican hole the other day (and no, that is not a euphemism for going down on a cheap hooker,) I couldn't help but notice the extraordinary length of time one elderly gent spent in the toilet. It's a small restaurant and only has one toilet that serves both men and women, so if someone goes in there for any length of time, a line will soon form, especially during busy periods. Luckily, the place was quite empty and only myself, this old lad, his wife and another couple were there. I usually avoid this particular toilet as it is quite unsavoury and not at all appetizing (although there has been many a time when I have had no choice but to use it), while I think this is generally a good policy it has led to several "photo finishes" upon my return to the relative sterility of the work bogs. But that is another post entirely.
Anyway, this old lad went to the bog just as I was starting to eat my bowl of Posole. They are big bowls of steaming hot soup and usually take me a good 20-25 minutes to finish. I was almost done with it before I realized that the old man had not returned, so he must have been gone at least 15 minutes. I looked over at his wife who was reading a book, seemingly unconcerned by his extended absence. She must be used to it I thought. Another 5 minutes passed by and still no sign of the old geezer, I was getting concerned. How horrible would it be if he had died in there?
I had done a post a couple of months ago about a bloke who died on a bookies bog (still no word on the cause of death in that one) and so I found this situation naturally enthralling and needless to say would have to stick around past the end of my lunch time to find out. After a few more minutes, his wife got up and went to look for him. I was sure she would return screaming for help and readied myself with camera phone, just in case. Sadly Happily, a few moments later they both returned, him red faced and sweating, her shaking her head.
What I don't understand is how can some people possibly take so long in the bog? I'm not going to suggest that he was rubbing one out, he didn't seem the sort, but why the fuck did he go in there if he wasn't ready? I know some people who take like 10 minutes to have a shit. I'm in and out in under two minutes unless it's one of the sticky variety that takes forever to wipe clean. I also know people who can go a day or two without shitting when I'm in there 3 times a day guaranteed. You can put the rent money on it. It's a dead cert.
Whatever you do in the sanctity of your own shithouse is your business (Boom, Boom!) and who am I or anyone else for that matter to question it. But please, when in public places, especially if it's a one stall mexican shithole that serves food of a highly dubious quality, don't hog the bog cause you can be sure there will be someone who really needs to use it more than you do. Play the white man and wait until you are ready.
6 comments:
I have a bad tummy sometimes and I pity the fool who gets between me and the shitter.
Army rations make you bunged up so you'll be ready to fight instead of ready to shite.
All reading material must be banned from the bog to speed up the process. Enough of people treating the toilet like a library.
I was sure she would return screaming for help and readied myself with camera phone, just in case
That's hilarious, I often find myself in situations where I think I should take a picture for my blog but never have the guts to do it.
By the way, I am a lingerer and a reader but only in the privacy of my own home
Did he climb out of the window and commit a murder, then climb in again? Where's Columbo when you need him?
"What I don't understand is how can some people possibly take so long in the bog?"
Especially after eating Mexican food. And nobody here had better tell me that Mexicans are inured to it, because if you think that, you have never been to a bathroom in Tijuana.
Ready for a gross story? My dad would bring a massive mug of tea, a bowl of cereal, a pack of cigarettes (Where was the ashtray, you ask? Good question. He flicked off the ash into the toilet, as he was sitting on it, between his balls. And yes, he would smoke the whole goddamned pack of cigs there on the toilet), and the morning newspaper into the bathroom while he was having a crap in the morning. He'd be in the bathroom for 40 minutes, minimum. And this was with all of us trying, in turn, to take a shower in the same fucking 6 foot x 6 foot bathroom. After years of protest by the whole family, he finally installed an exhaust fan.
Knudsen - Of all my readers I would expect you to be eggbound the most often.
MJ - I agree, just the odd "fine art magazine" for connoisseurs such as myself.
Ellie - Like I said, "A mans (or womans)shithouse is his (or her) own castle." Well, maybe I didn't say that but I meant to.
DCW - There is never a shabbily dressed 70's TV detective around when one needs one. Too busy defending themselves in court or presenting low quality cable tv true crime shows.
Sparrow - Wow! Your Dad sounds like he would have been right at home in North West England. A real working class hero.
They just put new fart fans in the bogs at work. The old ones were useless. After several complaints from fellow employees who I now suspect to be homosexual, the bogs have been fitted with the reverse thruster units from concorde. Amazingly enough, it still smells like shite all the time.
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