return…of the serial pooper

Let me begin by saying that there are few things worse in this world than smelling someone else’s poop.  I know what my dooky smells like, and it’s certainly not roses.  But at least it’s mine.  I know, and have known, what the general base scent of my poo is and has been for all the parts of my life I remember.  When I take a dump, I know by the smell if it is last night’s garlicky pasta or if it was this morning’s cereal.  And though it’s not exactly a scent I’d like to bottle and sell (or wear), it is at least familiar.  But what do you do when you’re confronted with the unfamiliar odor of someone else’s poo?

There is a serial pooper at work in my office.

First, a bit of background.  I work at a place that has more than 100 people on staff, and more than 1,000 clients who are very often in our offices.  The clients at my office have their own bathrooms that are more like the industrial, anonymous, multi-stall kind that one might find in a movie theater or stadium.  The staff restrooms, located in our breakroom, are one-holers.  The kind that are more like a person’s home bathroom, with one sink and one toilet and a full-sized, real-life locking door.  They also have industrial fans venting the air out whenever the lights are on.  Normally, I love the one-holer arrangement.  The fan masks a lot of noises that are less than savory, and the locking door ensures much more privacy than one of those goofy stall doors.  But yesterday and today had me wishing that I had opted for the client restroom.

I usually take two potty breaks, one in the morning, one in the afternoon.  I go at a time when I know there won’t be a lot of people in and out of the breakroom because of the poo shame issue.  Yesterday afternoon I went a bit later than my usual time.  When I opened the door to the bathroom, a wall of malodorous stench hit me.  It smelled like someone had eaten a whole bag of cheap dog food and six or seven heads of cabbage, chased with a case of Milwaukee’s Best.  The smell was so bad, I began to worry that the issuer of this stench might have mistaken the trash can for the toilet and taken a dump in there.  But as I walked over to the toilet and looked in, I saw two long, gracefully curving brown streaks on either side of the hole at the bottom of the toilet, accented with lots of little brown speckley bits.  These were some of the most extravagant skid marks I’d ever seen.  But I had to pee, so I sat down and did my business.

Then the door to the breakroom opened and someone came in.

I flushed and looked down to see that the skid marks were still there!  I could still smell the processed cabbage/beer/dog food smell!  Whoever walked into the breakroom would think my butt was the butt that had produced that odor and those magnificent skid marks!  But there was a chance that whoever they were, they were in the breakroom for a soda or to get something from the fridge.  Did I risk a second flush and the possibility that my mysterious coworker would think I’d just laid a huge log or did I chance it that they didn’t need the restroom and leave the skids and the stink?

I chose option two.  I washed my hands, ducked my head, and scurried back to my office.  I went unnoticed as I left the breakroom.  My relief was almost palpable.

Until today.  I took a pee break at my usual time, and again walked into a wall of odor upon entering the bathroom.  No skid marks, but the unmistakable smells of dog food and rancid cabbage gave it away.  There is a serial pooper on the loose in my office.  Do I dare go back at my regular time tomorrow?  We shall see.

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