Stalking the Partition Line


On Friday afternoon I was in such a hurry to leave work that I left my phone in my desk drawer. Sunday afternoon I go in to retrieve it and realize I need to piss while I’m there. The place is all empty cubicles and switched off lights, hot because the air conditioning doesn’t run after hours, and I trip down the back corridor to the bathroom and open the door.
First, the smell; it wasn’t a bad smell, which is even more disturbing than if it were awful, because you don’t like to think that another person’s excrement could be anything less than disgusting, so you stop breathing and back out of the doorway quietly, hoping that whoever is in there didn’t hear you come in and isn’t wondering why you’re leaving, having not done what you supposedly came in here to do. You notice – no, wait, ‘I’ – I notice that whoever is in the stall isn’t wearing any shoes. No shit, there is a hairy potato foot visible beneath the door of the stall.
Alright, so it is hot in here and if whoever it is wants to do their business barefoot, it’s none of my concern. But then I also wonder if this is some homeless guy who somehow snuck in to the building on Friday and has been stuck in here all weekend, pilfering instant coffee and milk arrowroot biscuits from the staff kitchen to keep from starving. Well I don’t own shares in the company, so I stick with Plan A: sneak out and rush home. If I turn up at work on Monday morning and find an ambulance parked out front, I’ll know not to tell anyone about the poor dead hobo on the bog.
Then he moans: urrggghhhh. I creep back, baby steps. Then he talks to himself: comeoncomeoncomeon. I cradle the door back into the frame. Then he babbles: ot’yer fabinfabinfabin yerkamin fer teeee. I lay the door on the jamb and

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2 Responses to “Stalking the Partition Line”

  1. Ljuke Says:

    Forgot to post this here when it was first published. What a dip-shit. Shame no one says dip-shit anymore.

  2. Ben Says:

    Just found this. Very cool. Nice work man.

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