daniel in new york spotted this note (and the follow-up) on the door of his soho office building’s restroom — “a nice single seater with a window.” adds daniel: “i understand the sentiment — my sphincter locks up like a vise with any distraction. but i do hope that the large white area on the thoughtfully typed response will illicit a petition of like-minded others.”
related: or at least pass the sports section under the door
118 responses so far ↓
#1
the sos
where exactly IS st. airwell?
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:12 am rating: +8
#2
Rob
What I really hate is when I am on the cell phone and the person on the other end is taking a number 2. Now that is rude!
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:14 am rating: +30
#3
Mishee
I’m thinking it’s bad manners to use an entire 8 1/2″x11″ sheet of copy paper, when a scribbled on post-it would’ve sufficed….
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:18 am rating: +13
#4
Mishee
If he is so pissed at this “pooper-yapper” then why call him “Buddy”…?
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:21 am rating: +1
#5
amazon
Ir’s really annoying when I go to use this bathroom to (privately) snort coke, if you will, only to hear someone taking a dump.
Seriously, if you want to take a dump (privately) take it to the stairwell or outside next time, buddy.
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:23 am rating: +34
#6
RunBarbara
as opposed to using the bathroom for a number two (publically)?
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:27 am rating: +14
#7
Ana
Who talks on a cell phone while they are shitting? How gross is that?!?!?
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:28 am rating: +11
#8
Jimmy Straightline
On the list of ” really annoying” things about public restrooms, this one doesn’t even make my Top 20. Suggestion: if you simply repeat every word you overhear, the ‘poop-talker’ will usually wrap up their conversation pretty quickly.
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:35 am rating: +27
#9
unholyghost2003
Wait. I am VERY confused. “a nice single seater with a window.” suggests to me that there is only one toilet in this bathroom. So, would someone please explain to me WHERE the Poo-Talker is pooing and talking whilst the pink note leaver is pooing quietly?
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:35 am rating: +5
#10
PANdemic
Isn’t it bad manners to type a note in ALL CAPS? I feel like they are SHOUTING.
If someone is going to type it up and use a whole sheet of paper, I would suggest some interesting font and maybe a cute graphic to entertain future poopers and get the message across in a more passive-aggressive way.
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:46 am rating: +5
#11
Canthz_B
I hate over-hearing cell phone conversations anywhere.
My major pet peeve is hearing someone make a call and say “Hi, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about five minutes”. Couldn’t they just wait five f-ing minutes and say “Hi” in person?
Team put back the phone booths!
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:46 am rating: +5
#12
Canthz_B
Here’s a tip: Invest in toilet paper and drop your poops in the privacy of your own bathroom.
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:50 am rating: +2
#13
zchamu
I dunno, I think dude’s missing a golden opportunity. The second someone started yapping on the phone, I’d start making the most heinous toilet noises possible. Wet, sloppy farts, splashing, you name it. You can’t lead a horse away from the bathroom but you sure can make them run in horror.
Jun 23, 2008 at 11:54 am rating: +21
#14
Moonsilver
Dear Pooper,
If you are having a bathroom “emergency” then please see Casey in Human Resourses for the key to the locked Mens Room downstairs. This bathroom is proven to be scientifically cleaner and therefore more suited to my “potty mouth” habits.
THX SANDRA
Jun 23, 2008 at 12:08 pm rating: +17
#15
GhostWriter
I’ll tell you what’s annoying- a guy who will only go into the bathroom “if you will.” Why is he so scared of crapping alone? Last week, he practically dragged me in there with him, and I ended up missing the season finale of Lost.
Jun 23, 2008 at 12:16 pm rating: +12
#16
claw71
I love it when people try to use their phones in the restroom. I’ll yell out from the stall I’m pooping here! I pooping over here!
That usually gets them off the phone because they’ll either have to admit to the other party that they are in a restroom, thus revealing a level of disrespect that can alter the course of the friendship, or they have to make up a story about being around the downtown whackos.
Jun 23, 2008 at 12:24 pm rating: +19
#17
claw71
I know there is a segment of the population that prefers to poop privately and that there are bogus unwritten rules to public restroom usage.
All I can say is that the best way to attain privacy in a public setting is to go potty in your pants. Nobody ever suspects.
Jun 23, 2008 at 12:30 pm rating: +14
#18
Sheepish
i’ve never understood the use of ‘if you will’ in this type of sentance.
and, why is privately put in like that?
not only am i confused by the story of the stall with a window but the general construction of the note.
i must not be smart enough to follow along.
Jun 23, 2008 at 12:32 pm rating: +1
#19
octavius
It’s ‘elicit’ a petition, not ‘illicit’.
Jun 23, 2008 at 1:01 pm rating: +2
#20
Kev Orng
I can ignore obnoxious loud cell-talkers most of the time, but if I’m in the middle of a leg-numbing poo, I want peace and quiet, dammit!
At least give me the dignity of a quiet poo before I fall down the st. airwell because of the pins and needles in my feet. I’m trying to read here!
Jun 23, 2008 at 1:28 pm rating: +9
#21
Casey in Human Resources
All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.
As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!” This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience: 0.Occupied. 1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the occupied one. 2.Poo on seat. 3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat. 4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet. – Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I’m normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn’t happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude — a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon’s continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial “herald” fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
“Oh my God,” I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, “No, baby, that wasn’t me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??”
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I’d see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: “Gotta go… horrible… throw up… in my mouth… not… make it… tell the kids… love them… oh God…” followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching. Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one’s phone and wipe one’s bum at the same time.
Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet. There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who’d be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth. As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it’ll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public — and I doubt he’ll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
Jun 23, 2008 at 1:32 pm rating: +81
#22
Garcy
George Bush’s private nickname for his buddy Karl Rove was “turd blossom.” But many folks don’t realize that the secret service has a nickname for George Bush and it’s “pooper yapper.”
Or it should be, anyway.
Jun 23, 2008 at 1:36 pm rating: +3
#23
PANdemic
Too funny for words…
Jun 23, 2008 at 2:33 pm rating: 0
#24
Xtroll
I think everyone misunderstood what the guy was getting at. I’m thinking he’s wanting to use the rest room only to find someone sitting in the single seater talking on the phone. Mean while he’s waddling around with the turtle poking his head out trying to find an unoccupied toilet.
Jun 23, 2008 at 3:34 pm rating: +13
#25
claw71
The expression “turtle head” is funny but not the least bit accurate. It’s really more like one of those grease pencils carpenters use to mark lumber for cuts.
I’ve had turtles in my pants and they’ve never markked up my shorts.
Jun 23, 2008 at 6:15 pm rating: +3
#26
aaa
Who the hell do you would anyone be talking to while unloading a giant poo? Unless you can’t stop shitting and you’re calling 911 or something, there’s no excuse to be on your cell in the toilet.
Jun 23, 2008 at 7:54 pm rating: +1
#27
aaa
I bet the author of the second note is the cellular shitter. Maybe they feel that their love of pooey phone sex is being persecuted and therefore must try to make the first note writer to be in the wrong. It seems to me that the people in the wrong are usually the ones who accuse others of being impolite and needing to learn manners.
Jun 23, 2008 at 8:04 pm rating: 0
#28
GVI
I would leave them a sign saying “Can you please not make farthing noises while taking a dump, it is rude and embarrassing for me to explain those noises to the people on the other side of the phone.”
Jun 23, 2008 at 10:46 pm rating: 0
#29
Lurker
ZOMG, I JUST got back from the ladies’ room, where there was a pooptalker in the next stall.
I was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt; after all, she could have just ducked into the stall for privacy or something. But then I heard a telltale plop.
Jun 24, 2008 at 10:17 am rating: 0
#30
Xtroll
Ahh but it is like a turtle head when you have to go but can’t for whatever reason like someone camped out in the toilet. Because he pokes his head out for a little bit and then slides back in. A little bit later he sticks it out again and then slides back in all the while singing (To the tune of Johnny Cash’s I Hear the Train a Coming)
The shit is a coming,
it’s coming down the track.
You better hurry up son
or you’ll have a messy crack.
Jun 24, 2008 at 5:52 pm rating: +1
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