Okay, I know we all can't help ourselves in the bathroom. I have ranted before about toilet messes left behind and so on. But today, I had a most unpleasant experience, and I have to get it off my chest.
No, that guy hasn't been wacking off again. Or at least, he's cleaning up his spooge these days.
I usually hold whatever I have to do until some other admin gets in. So when he did, I excused myself and rushed to the little boy's room with the full intent of evacuating and running into the data center to switch out my backup vault tapes (not a euphemism, I am doing backup vaults from the SAN with DLT2s today). But when I opened the door, I horrible humid smell slapped me in the face like a germ-soaked sponge.
It got worse by the toilets. Some employee, who shall remain nameless for reasons you're about to understand, was having gastric trouble the likes of which filled me with shock, sympathy, and rancid disgust. The phrase, "Hell man, what did you EAT?" came to mind. The sounds that emanated from the stall were the sounds of a donkey in mid-coitus, braying in pain and thrusting upon his porcelain torture chamber as juicy flatulence echoed in haunting reverberance like an Organ of the Damned played in the sewers at the Gates of Hell.
"Abandon all Poop, ye who enter here..."
Guttural cries, mentioning God himself, were passed into the air as the poor tortured figure twisted and strained to evacuate the demons that tormented his colon. You could hear the contents splash angrily upon release of the fudgy hostages from their twisted escape tunnels. I could picture this person, his face twisted upwards like something from Dante's vision of tortured souls writing in hell, praying for unconsciousness. It occurred to me that he was making the same sounds as an orgasm, but instead of sexual release, he was exorcising the Devil from his bowels.
But that wasn't even the worst part.
The smell was putrefying. Normal body functions have that earthy smell, sometimes a tad sulfurous, but the smells that wafted from the stall burned into my eyes the birth of a new cesspool volcano. I could discern only a hint of human odor as it was overcome with a severe pungence that spoke of some horrible chemical poisoning. If it weren't for the fact I had to wee so badly, I would have fled to the women's room, secure in the fact that I could explain my way out of that situation rather than deal with the acrid gas that burned my sinuses and choked the very air itself.
This smell was born of the Unholy.
I did my business and washed my hands, smearing soap into my nose and eyes to mask the odor and tear-searing pain that threatened to choke the soul from my body. Folks, I have been hit by CS canister tear Gas, and the effect, while not as physical, felt the same. I had to suppress the gag reflex as I heard the poor condemned soul unroll wads upon wads of toilet paper in his vain attempt to cleanse his orifices, wiping with the force one uses with worn sandpaper, powered by a combination of bodily fear and humiliating shame.
It is because of this I did not wish to know the individual who would exit the stall. I never want to know the victim of this horrible curse. I did not want the stall to open in that enclosed room, letting more exotic smells waft forth like the dry ice fog from a cheap vampire movie. I could picture colored gasses curling forth and slithering along the floor like toxic waste, eating the surface of the tile and forcing the glaze to crack, and turning the men's room into a Bog of Eternal Stench. I am sure the victim did not wish to make eye contact with me, either. I cannot bear the thought of exposing a soul to even the slightest fraction of my repulsion of this event we shared, like victim and guest, crossing paths in a rank cloud of social horror that would scar anyone until the end of their days.
... and scene.