I was a 'shit' martyr

Faecal Matters

As I may have often prattled on about in other equally unsanitary blog enteries, the toilet in this office is a constant source of contention with me. Not being particularly prudish or squirmish about using it, I happily will park my breakfast at work without any real concern. Of course-without covering old ground- I always employ the courtesy flush as the Office is extremely small and I consider myself extremely considerate to the needs of my male colleagues in this department. After all due to the size of the office we all know who's in. Moreover, the toilet has no windows and is about the size of a confessional box, only supplied with a 3 month supply of paper towels and toilet paper and a toilet of course. The need for discression is paramount.

Today, however I was met with a most unpleasant problem... I should warn you at this juncture- those with a weak disposition should not read on.

10am ish my regular morning constitutional was required. I was even more bored with the day so decided to bring my phone to play some poker as this, I felt, would be a useful way to spend some time. As per most mornings here, the fellow worker before me had left the place thick with their own warm, rich, aroma. I did my usual wiping of the seat (which was tres warm may I add) and took up my throne and proceeded to play on my phone for about 10 minutes before I was about to 'drop'. As I was poised to incorporate the courtesy flush (flushing whilst you go to eradicate and smells/sounds) I noticed a blob of faeces on the floor. It was the diameter of a 50 pence piece and was located directly in front of toilet, inches from where my feet where.

Shit.


I was presented with a very awkward situation.

Do I ignore it?
Do I storm out of the toilet demanding to know who it was?
Or did I clean it up?

Of course hating confrontations and paranoid that someone would believe in error, that it belonged to me, especially as at this time in the morning their is a usually someone waiting to use the facilities when you vacate it; I proceeded to scrape it off the floor with a piece of cheap office tissue paper.

I have tried to deduce whom this crass hole was, but in all honesty I probably don't really want to know that answer, as forever more I should only be able to image them stood over the toilet, suit jacket hoisted above their mid drift, wiping their arse after a particularly bad dose of the squits - being in so much is pain and relief that they don't notice a little has gone astray.
Shit Shrapnel.

It brought to mind, remarkably, a long forgotten memory whilst at Primary school. We were kept from going to our lunch as some dirty twat had laid a large poo on the toilet seat and it had totally traumatised several girls in the class. The teacher in her infinite wisdom took us all to the toilet to inspect it and proclaimed that we weren't going to go on lunch until it had been cleaned.
After about a minute of tears and 9 year old hysteria, I thought "what the hell" and after wrapping a large amount of paper towels (the evil tracing paper bog roll would not have been adequate for this job) around my hand, I broke forth from the ranks and picked the brown log up and dropped it in the toilet. A job well done. Alas, this act of extreme bravery was considered an admission of guilt, and I was duly castigated by my fellow classmates and the bitch we had teaching us. Ah, I still remember trying to dry my hands and protest my innocence, as I was frog marched to the Headmaster's office via the school hall.I was a 'shit' martyr then, imprisoned wrongly for trying to help the masses during the tyrannical dictatorship of Miss Bradley the "hippie teacher". Now after nearly 20 years I have become a shit saint, working for the greater good for one an all. Amen…”..I smell a TV series”