by Nick Lang.
There I was, busting for a piss, with nothing but the smug, stubborn look of a locked door in front of me, smiling its “occupied” smile. For minutes I waited, as the pain grew in my bladder – as did the sense of gloom that comes from the realisation that you are waiting for someone to finish something quite evil, of which the aftermath you must now bear witness to. When suddenly, out comes none other than the company Director himself; an honest and friendly man who has no such luxury as an en-suite toilet. He smiles and walks away swiftly to return to his important duties, leaving me to have to wade in amongst the vapours of his foul droppings, doing my best to hold my breath whilst trying to enjoy a painstakingly long urination session. But as I approach the scene of the crime, I realise that something isn’t quite right; something is, missing. I can, breath. A moment or two of quiet contemplation is interrupted sharply by a shocking revelation – the Director’s shit actually does not stink.
I guess some people actually are just better than the rest of us.