The following is not about a poo experience of mine but that of one of my co-worker's. The best part of it all is he never knew what I witnessed. This is my story:
I work at our company’s IT department. We were looking for some help a couple of years ago and ended up hiring Dennis, a Filipino guy in his forties. He seemed like a nice enough person, but we soon realized that he was a little rough around the edges. He didn't follow practical strategies that we knew were best and seemed to do things his own way, whether they were best practice or not. He showed up and did his job for the most part, but his work ethics don't really have much to do with the story at hand.
Dennis, being of foreign nationality, had eating habits that were different at best. He rarely, if ever, ate with us or ate food that I considered typical everyday work place food. He would bring his own lunch most of the time and eat at his desk. The microwave sat close to us and it became an almost daily event that I would smell some kind of foreign, re-heated leftover treat that our Filipino cohort had cooked the night before. I hope it was only the night before.
Perhaps the length of time that Dennis left his leftovers in the icebox predisposed him to the encounter I had in the can that afternoon.
On this particular day Dennis had brought in what looked like some kind of kielbasa sausage leftovers plate with a generous portion of veggies. I think the veggies were just a pile of chopped onions with green, yellow, and red peppers. The link of sausage was probably a foot in length, and it was pungent and bright red. I took no interest in watching him eat this, nor would I have on any other occasion. It's a matter of what I witnessed that made me remember the facts as I was to share this story with my friends and co-workers. I know - I'm a jerk.
I don't know whether or not Dennis ate everything that he heated up that day, but I do know that he was in the bathroom and not doing well within an hour or so after his lunch.
I went into the bathroom to take a number two myself but had to re-assess my bowel situation; for what I walked into was nothing short of pure office shitting dramatics at their peak. I heard what I thought to be heavy breathing and moans from the first of three stalls and stopped dead in my tracks as if I were frozen in time. I used the urinal so it wouldn't be too obvious that I was leaving because someone else was using the facilities. Whoever it was that was in the stall had no shame whatsoever as he was asking the lord, "Why? Why, Jesus?" And even though I began to feel uncomfortable being witness to this poor man’s pain, I had to know more.
I washed my hands and then opened the door and let it close, yet I never vacated the premises. Instead, I quietly inched my way into a better spot where the audio would be clearer. Would it have been weird if someone else came in to see that I was leaning toward the stalls, obviously listening to this man’s defecation? Yes. But it was worth it. It wasn't even a question at that point.
As a fecal enthusiast it was my duty.
"Why? Why's it so Greeeeeeeen?" Moaning and heavy broken breathing.
"Why's it so Haaaaard?"
"JEEEESUSSSS..... Why's it so GREEEEEEN?"
Is this Dennis, I wondered to myself? Holy crap, it was Dennis. I immediately realized I had to share this story with my co-workers. I didn't let the excitement of that realization overcome me, though, because I also I needed to make sure that it was him and that my facts were straight.
Dennis continued to struggle with his mighty B.M. I envisioned his pants and tightie whities around his ankles, yet with his legs locked in a straight position horizontal with the floor. His five foot three inch frame would be contorting and awkwardly mantled on the porcelain monument he was claiming as his for that moment. I knew that our relationship would not be the same if he were to flush and find me standing there in awe, so I crept silently away and went back to our area. I made sure he was not in his cubical - which he wasn't - and saw his plate in front of his keyboard about three-quarters of the way consumed. He had been in facilities awhile apparently.
As I told what I’d seen to a buddy at work, Dennis walked in. He had a fake smile on his face and definitely walked with what I assumed were numb legs and a hell of a cramped-up sphincter. He avoided us most of the day and made several more trips to the bathroom. To this day the story is requested. Someone thought it would be Poop Report material and suggested that I post it. I'm happy to oblige!
