Safety In Number Two

A while back, in Weekend Wrapup #3, I told a story about a certain incident at Sarah's house. This has become a topic of great interest among some of my readers, and I have been asked to go into greater detail regarding my pooping-policy.

But really, it's not so much policy as it is simply what my body tells me to do. See, I have this thing where I never have to poop until I reach what I call a "safe toilet". For example, I could be at work all the live-long day, not having to poop, but once I open the door to my house, I basically need to run to the bathroom. See, in this example, critical mass was probably achieved well before I got home, but my body won't allow it to come out until I feel safe. Of course, it's all mental, but it's completely involuntary.

However, I have been able to pinpoint the qualities that can make a certain toilet 'safe', and I'd be glad to share them:

1. Cleanliness. A toilet must be impeccably clean. This is why my home toilet will always qualify as safe - because I can be in complete control of its cleanliness. And it's a very good thing that my home toilet is always safe, because I would be quite backed up otherwise.

2. Quiet. A toilet is like a fortress of solitude. Safe toilets are always in low-traffic, low-interruption areas. Also, even the home toilet is temporarily unsafe if there is some sort of gathering of people. Basically, no one should be allowed to know you are pooping - it should be handled as a completely clandestine operation. It needs to be handled with such decorum that, five minutes later, you can pretend it never happened.

3. Infrequent Usage. This basically disqualifies any public restroom, and rightly so (unless you can find a secret bathroom, like one I found at college - then you've got a very special relationship). Who wants to share ass-space with the general public? Have you seen the general public? They're gross. A safe toilet must be shared with as few people as possible. This sounds a little selfish, but remember, I didn't consciously create these rules, I just noticed how my body works and figured them out.

4. Strength. A safe toilet must be able to destroy all evidence - it must be able to handle anything you can throw at it. Now, since it's so hard for me to find an appropriate toilet, I can often go several days without pooping. This means that when I do poop, it can be a real toilet python. Or sometimes even a big brown baby. That said, the strength to handle my assault is the most elusive of all the safe toilet qualities.

5. Comfort. Basically all the previous qualities lead to a general feeling of comfort. However, occasionally a toilet will meet the other requirements, but it just doesn't feel right, and the mission must be aborted. That's a comfort issue. This one is difficult to explain, as it is simply a gut feeling, but, believe me, it's important.

So there we are... I've let you all into a small slice of my psychosis. Fortunately, I rarely suffer due to these rules; as I said, my body doesn't even alert me to the fact that I have to poop until I've reached a safe toilet destination.

It should be noted that there have been exceptions... often if I'm either sick or if I have simply pushed my body too far. But that's very infrequent. For example, I don't remember pooping in my High School. At the job I've worked for almost four years, I've pooped maybe twice. Ironically, the times where I'm absolutely forced to poop somewhere I wouldn't normally poop are the very times when disaster is most likely to strike, as I have likely created such a mighty log that no toilet should be expected to swallow it.

So, here I'd like to open this up to discussion (ahem, Traci...). Your thoughts?