The Dirty Diaper

I thought the bathroom was the last vestige of privacy in an office, a place where I could compose myself, or decompose myself if needed, I suppose.

But that all changed with the click of a smart phone.

In the bathroom this morning, I heard the familiar clicks of a smart phone from a gentlemen(?) scribing a quick note off to someone.

He was sitting on the potty. He was pooping. And he was typing off an email to someone.

Between the farts and the beeps, I could only shake my head and wonder if the recipient knew the sender thought so highly of the former that he could not wait to relieve himself and had to dash off an email right away.

These are the people running our capitalist society, folks. In our short attention-span society of 24/7 communication, they realize that the first rule of business and the second rule of waste must at times mix. They won't let little things like bowel movements stand in their way if they are on location. Business is business.

What a staggering breach of bathroom and professional etiquette. Had I the opportunity to go back, I would have jumped in the next stall, reached my hand under the partition, asked to borrow his smart phone to make a call, and instead wipe my own butt with it.

Perhaps instead of the compulsory "Sent from my Blackberry" at the bottom of the message, the sender could have written, "Sent from the crapper on floor seven. And depending on where you are, you actually could get both at the same time.