That's Shitty

Warning: the following post contains references written in bad taste and should not be read while consuming food.

I survived my first day back at work. AND lost 5 pounds. Bonus.

My anxiety level was so high about leaving my baby girl at daycare that I spent most of the early morning surpressing vomit.

Multiple coffees later...

The vomit, which didn't like being contained and pushed down and mixed with a diarrhetic, migrated further south. And roared.

Not wanting to offend everyone in the office by using the one shared washroom, I weighed my options. Quickly.

Option #1: the public washroom. Bonuses: it has three stalls. Cons: it would be a lose-lose situation. If you take the middle stall and [blam!] someone comes in, you have a person on either side of you hearing the blow by blow. Take either end stall and the poor unsuspecting SOB has to walk thru the smog.

Option #2: the handicapped washroom (also the only option which offered any real privacy). Bonuses: located at the end of the hallway. Cons: located at the end of the hallway.

Pardon the pun, but I went with option #2. Ungodly sounds and smells erupted. I think I even saw Moses. All the while, I was hoping the sound didn't echo into our office boardroom. I tried to be quick, and inconspicous. After washing my hands five times, I paused to listen for any movement in the hallwall. I needed to make a quick escape. Unfortunately, to make sure the smell stayed corralled, I had to pull the door almost closed, leaving a mere inch of ventilation. I felt so guilty, after all, handicapped people probably have a hard enough time getting to an accessible washroom only to be confronted with the horror that lay in wait.

Luckily I escaped undetected. Until they read this.