And now, the end is near

So, as you can see from the previous post, things are finally drawing to a close on the old bathroom front.  It's been a long, bumpy, and -at times- tedious ride, and I'd like to thank you, gentle reader, for sharing the high's, the low's, and every altitude in-between as we travelled from the ridiculous to the sublime (in terms of interior decoration)..

One big plus of all the work being done is that I can finally enjoy a good pooh at home as opposed to having to go at work.  Now I know the contractors I work with (and, hell, even some of the permies agree) will advocate going for a pooh during work hours - you are, after all, getting paid to have a shit.  Constipation is almost akin to promotion to them.  As well as the financial incentive of the office-hours-pooh, there is also the fact that a lot of the people I work with consider the company-subsidised-dump to be the highlight of any given work day. 

However, the company loo's contain three cubicles and I personally would rather pooh in isolation.  This is not because I am bashful, or anything like that, it's just that I don't like having to sit there and listen to other people pooh-ing in the adjacent cubicles. 

You see, it seems that some people have no shame when using shared toilet resources, and have no problem whatsoever accompanying each bowel movement with a eardrum-shattering anal-fanfare (or should that be "anal-fartfare"?).  This crescendo of bum-trumpeting is most often accompanied by repeated sploshing, like someone emptying a slops bucket into a swimming pool.  It's a symphony of shitting that I just don't want to hear. 

And the phantom farters (for their identity is, thankfully, always concealed by the partition wall of the cubicle.  Just as well, really, as I don't think I could look the offenders in the eye after some of the concerts I've heard) are not the worst, oh no.. that title goes to the pleaders. 

The pleaders obviously don't get enough roughage in their diet, and seemingly have to coax each little pebble of pooh forth by begging it to emerge from it's sphincter retreat..  If you didn't know better you'd swear they had a small hamster up their arse and they were trying to tease it out using cheese and persuasion..

"Ngggggnn.. Oh, come on, come on.. nggggggnnnnnn.. yes, that's it.. ngggnnn.. <plop!>"

This is normally followed by a giant sigh of relief, and a moment of rest, before the whole embarrassing performance begins again..

Both the phantom farters and the pleaders are assisted in their awful aural accompaniments by the fact that the company loo, being tiled from floor to ceiling, adds it's own acoustic nuance in the form of a little bit of echo, for that professional touch.  

And there's nothing worse than having to sit there, trollies round your ankles, having to listen to this.. this.. well, this shit.  Can people not pooh quietly?  Must they announce each clenching of the buttocks with a rip-roaring fart?  Can they not eat more All Bran?

I for one will not be missing the office-hours-dump, and look forward to pooh-ing at home admiring my fine floor tiling work...