So I'm in the toilet, taking a dump, when one of my arsehole workmates wedges the door shut from the outside to make me look like a prat. And he knows I won't call anyone on cellphone because calling someone from the bogs is waay out of line. Besides, it would come up in conversation at every work piss-up for the next 10 years and it just isn't worth the hassle.
So all that's left to me is old faithful, climbing over the top of the cubicle and making my way out that way. And denying my workmate any satisfaction from trapping me.
All that I have to do is to wait until everyone's left the bog as it probably wouldn't do my rep any good to be seen "cubicle-hopping" - especially not in work time..
In the back of the mind is the counterthought that spending too long waiting in the toilet probably isn't doing the rep that much good in the first place, especially as it's common knowledge that the boss hates my guts ever since I drew a booger coming out of his nose before the annual report went to the printers..
Still, it makes life interesting.
So I'm waiting for everyone to leave, making straining noises so it seems that I'm not in there for pleasure, when the cubicle beside me clangs shut. I know I'm in for trouble when I see the walls of the cubicle buckle as my neighbour takes his throne. And gasps his relief.
5 seconds later I'm proved correct when the sound of something not altogether unlike somebody pouring a pressurised barrel of greased engine parts into a bath full of wet sacks greets my ears.
And the smell's on form as well...
Obviously he's not been missing out on his onions, eggs, cauliflower, beans or carpet cleaner, because the odour is strong. So strong the walls start bleeding and the gold plate tarnishes on my watch prior to curling up and falling to the floor. The sort of smell the army tried to get with chemical warfare only the couldn't find a bottle that would hold it for very long. With a half life of a millenium or so..
About now I'm stuffing my sensory orifaces with bog paper in a vain attempt to save my mind, but it's waaaaaay too late for that, the smell having impregnated the paper as well as the immediate area. I hear someone at the urinal gagging and slipping to the floor so I throw dignity aside and leap for the cubicle wall opposite my new neighbour.
Only in my haste I'd forgotten to do my jeans up so they fall down mid-leap to get momentarily hooked on the toilet roll holder, then tear free as I, leap trajectory horrifically adjusted, crash through the bog door, attempt a saving roll, which, because of the disorientation due to the tragejectory change, sends me out into the corridor through the just-opened bog door.
Of course I COULD have tried to explain to the boss, who'd just come to look for me, what I was doing with my pants down and nose and ears plugged with bog paper, gasping for breath, but hell, that's the wissey way out.
I nail him one in the crotch for old time's sake before the cops can get to me...