The facility looked like any other Wally World crapper in America. It was sorta dirty, and there was a garbage bag taped over one of the urinals and used paper towels wadded up on the floor. But something was definitely different about this one. As soon as I entered, a putrid miasma of rump raunch assailed my nostrils. I involuntarily stopped as a low moan emanated from the farthest stall.
"O god, O god, O god, O god, O god..." was being chanted in a melancholy intonation. I had clearly stumbled upon some sort of arcane worship being conducted in the handicapped stall.
Worship in church is just fine, but the offering of poophouse supplications is a tad bit weird, even for me. I regained my resolve (being prompted by my overdistended bladder), advanced to the urinal, and loosed Maxwell House's finest into the abyss.
"Holy shit! Oh my god, Owwwww..." sounded from yon stall. This was followed by "RRRRRiiiiipppppppppppppp, Farrrrrttt, FART, UNGHHHHHHH, GROOOOAANNNN, Splunsh! ...ahhhh."
Then, after a few moments, the chanting resumed: "O god, O god, O god, O god, O god..."
I am ordinarily not an eavesdropper, nor am I a turd voyeur; however, I felt an overwhelming urge to know more about this religious ritual. In my mind I envisioned a monklike figure: barefoot and clad in a brown robe. This suppliant at the altar of offal back there must be making sacrifice on an industrial scale.
Again a mighty blast on the trumpet of rectal righteousness sounded its terrible call, followed by an enormous splash. It sounded as though someone had tossed an engine block in the bowl. A gasp and low moan followed.
"O god, O god, O god, O god, O god..." Again the liturgical chant resumed.
Suddenly a scream split the air of the shitty sanctuary. "OH MY GOD IT HURTS! O god, O god, O god..."
Then silence.
"Are you all right back there?" I called. By now I was concerned that someone may be giving birth to all four of the horsemen of the Apocalypse at once.
Silence. Is that poor bastard dead in there?
"O god, O god, O god, O god, O god..." started again.
Now, in my semi-rational worldview, if you are in trouble and someone asks if you're okay, you respond. Since this person did not, I can only assume one of two things: he either does not need help, or he is too far gone for help.
Just then a low, guttural laugh sounded from the stall.
That was enough for me. This clearly was an unholy invocation of the satanic demons of shit. I left.
My wife was waiting near the front doors. Moved by the dark spiritual warfare taking place in the men's room, I told her what happened. She just stared at me and said, "You were listening to somebody take a dump? You're sick." She turned and walked out toward the car.
Oh, how little do ordinary mortals understand...