Thursday, August 30, 2007

Pooping in Public

Trying to defecate in a public restroom has always been stressful.

There are few things a man will do in his lifetime that place him in as vulnerable a position in public: seated, pants down, mere feet away from total strangers, knowing that he really needs to go and hoping that his sphincter will relax just long enough to accomplish the mission.

Is the seat clean? Am I going to, however innocently, splash my pants and have to rejoin the non-bathroom-using public looking like I’ve just wet myself? Is there enough paper? Is the paper 600 grit or 60? Will some knuckle dragger mistake the closed and locked stall as being vacant, and begin violently pulling on the door to gain access? Clang! Clang! Clang! CLANG! Clanging away until enough current trickles across the right synapse to signal that the reason it won’t open is because the stall is occupied?

This wasn’t stressful enough? Now you’re telling me that on top of all this I HAVE TO MAKE GODDAMN CERTAIN THAT MY FEET REMAIN ABSOLUTELY MOTIONLESS, SO NOBODY MISTAKENLY THINKS I’M SOLICITING SEXUAL ACTIVITY?

Seriously? I can’t shit without making sure I sit there like a statue?

JUST WHO THE HELL THOUGHT OF THIS FORM OF COMMUNICATION, ANYWAY? (You would think that the proliferation of iPods among the pooping-in-public-but-not-gay-sex-seeking male population would have rendered this signaling system difficult, if not impossible, to continue to use reliably.)

Regardless, what’s next? I can’t sneeze in public, without learning that I’ve just signaled my willingness to midget wrestle? Can’t tug my ear without getting slapped with a copyright infringement suit in federal court? Can’t… well, you get the idea.

This is great. Just terrific. I guess from now on I’ll have to sneak into the ladies’ room to poop.

Your obedient servant,
B. Freret

Monday, August 20, 2007

Another Rearview Mirror Dreamcatcher

Saw another dreamcatcher hanging from a passenger car rearview mirror today. That makes the sixth one the past 45 days or so.

Makes me wonder how much r.e.m. sleep these people are getting at the wheel. Do they keep dreamcatchers in their cubicles at work, too? Beside their toilets at home, just in case they suddenly fall into a deep sleep whilst moving their bowels?

And setting aside the narcoleptic inference(s) for a moment, just what exactly are these people dreaming that requires such vigilant filtration, anyway? Even the kids in the Nightmare on Elm Street films never took such drastic precautions, and I think we can all pretty much agree that those were REALLY BAD dreams that needed to be trapped and filtered out.

Of course, maybe with dreamcatchers hanging from every rearview mirror, there never would have been a Nightmare franchise…

Your obedient servant,
B. Freret