:: The Office Shit ::
I have worked in my current office for nearly three years. The building has hundreds of advantages over my previous office - which of course was in the mighty burg of Peace River, Alberta.
For starters, my current office is not in Peace River, Alberta.
Among it's many charms, this office is five minutes from the beach, has a machine that pumps out quality hot chocolate for a mere 25 cents, and was built within the last 40 years, as opposed to the Peace River office, which was 85 years old, and drafty as hell. The back entrance was a double-door, and even when closed, you could've slipped a loonie length-wise through the opening. In -40 weather, that's not fucking cool.
My current building also earns points because it also used to be a bank, so there's a vault with one of those really thick, heavy doors, which my friend Steve once got locked in, adding to the office's awesomeness.
But the thing I hate about the place, aside from the fact that once through its doors I'm expected to work, is the bathroom. Now, as far as public facilities go, it's alright. Always clean, if not a little bit cramped.
It has it's problems though. For starters, due to the cramped space, it's tough to, uh, 'air out.' But, by far, the biggest problemis the bathroom's extremely close proximity to people. It is about four steps away from my department's little war room, with a door in between that is - unfortunately - always kept open, because otherwise it was cut us off from the rest of the office. It's close enough - and the office is quite enough - that every flush, every tug of papertowel from the dispenser, every turn of the tap, is heard by the rest of the people in our department.
That is a problem if you gotta take a shit. Especially a violent one, as is often the case after lunch if you've chosen to hit up the little Malaysian restaurant down the block. Let's face it - nobody wants to hear that.
There's one guy in our office that clearly has no problem with the situation, he heads in there, newspaper tucked under his arm, at any and all times. He just doesn't care - and to be honest, he's somehow as quiet as can be. But I just can't do it.
The only times I've ever taken a shit there was during a rare moment when everyone was out of the office for a few minutes, and a few times on Sundays or early mornings when the office is still empty. In three years working there, I estimate I've only dropped a deuce at the office four times. Six times maximum.
How do I do it, you're probably wondering. Well, it's simple. If it's near the end of the day, and it's not an urgent situation, you just wait. But in three years I've managed to scout out some prime spots throughout the community. The No. 1 option is the hockey rink. It's about a 5-minute drive away, so if there's an emergency situation it doesn't do the job, but usually it's fine. I picked this spot as much for it's emptiness as it's lovely facilities (Which are top shelf). Being in the line of work I'm in, I always have a fairly good idea of what goes on at the rink and various times of the day. Usually, from about 8 a.m. until 2 p.m. - when the junior team arrives for practice - it's damn near empty. And in the summer it's even better - even emptier - because the ice is taken out, and nobody's around. It's still open however, because the city has a Rec office in the building, thus keeping it open through the summer months.
It is option A by a landslide.
If the rink isn't an option for any reason, other choices the bathroom/storage/concession booth at the local athletic park. The bathrooms are public, and usually unlocked during the day. However, it's not as prime a spot as the rink due to the fact that, on occasion, it is locked. Also, the walk from the parking lot to the bathrooms is lengthy, and hilly. If you're in a hurry, it's trouble.
Other options I've tested are the public bathrooms at the beach (which lose serious points for grossness), and the curling rink. The curling rink is often closed, however, and even when it is open, I ALWAYS end up being roped into a 20+ minute conversation with the people there, so a quick 15-minute shit turns into a 40 minute affair. And even though I consider myself an A-1 slacker, I just don't have that kind of time.
So as you can see, I have a serious problem here. In fact, it's the shits (pun intended).
It actually makes me yearn for the days of Peace River, where the men's washroom was tucked way down in the basement, in the dark, where nobody ever went unless they need a copy of a newspaper from 1936. It may have been -30 down there and dark, with a door that you had to body-check to close, and then still wouldn't lock, but good god was it peaceful.
The kind of place where you could eat all the Malaysian food you wanted to at lunch.
I know I'm not the only one dealing with this same issue. When I moved into my place last July, Chris' No. 1 reason for wanting a key was because my house is only a 2-minute drive from his office, and he wanted to be able to come here at lunch to take a dump. Understanding his predicament, I gave him a key.
Life would just be so much easier if the architects of these buildings would realize the obvious difficulties of droppin' the Cosbys off at the pool when co-workers are so close by.
Not everybody's got a hockey rink nearby, after all.
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