Holy Crap

Everyone knows Mr. Hankey, right? He's the Christmas poo from South Park who comes out of the toilet at Christmas time and spreads (and I mean spreads) his poopy Christmas cheer to all. Normally don't admit to knowing about Mr. Hankey, but I am compelled to talk about poop today. I'm not sure why.

In my family, everyone was taught from birth that solid human waste is referred to as a bowel movement. BM for short. For some reason this name, BM, always made me uncomfortable. In my child mind, I figured it would be much more delightful to refer to it as B-got. I have no idea how I concluded that B-got meant the same thing as BM; I just knew I could say it out loud without feeling stupid. My sister's children must have felt as uncomfortable with the term BM as I did. They simply referred to is as B. That works for me too.

Some synonyms of the ever infamous BM are: shit, crap, turd, doo-doo, dung, waste, poo, dookie, feces, defecation, poopie, woogie, runs, excrement, droppings, log, manure, stool, number 2, noog, hershey squirts, and poopie doodle. Poop, as natural as it is for all living beings, is shunned by humans as being disgusting despite the fact that we have such colorful references to it. Poop is probably the first naughty thing a kid jokes about. According to Sigmund Freud, poop, and one's practice of excreting or retaining it, can be a cause for a great many life-long neuroses.

As open and free as I appear to be on the subject of poop, I, too, am disgusted by it, yet oddly fascinated. I'm sure I've contracted one of those Freudian neuroses. One thing I know for sure, I don't think it should be done in public rest rooms.

The bathroom I use at work is very clean and tidy. However, I can't help but cringe when I walk in and am bowled over by the remaining aroma of someone's morning dumpage. There I stand, in the cloud of stench. All of the stalls are empty, and I have a five in six chance of choosing one that isn't the source of that gagging scent. They all look clean, so I pick one and sit down. Of course the seat is still warm.

Am I afraid of getting some on me, despite the fact that all evidence of poop (except the smell) has been erased? I'm not sure. I just know that I'd be horribly embarrassed to leave a load in a public bathroom, especially one that stinks so much for so long. I finish my little tinkle and flush the toilet. Invariably, when I open the stall door, there is someone coming in who thinks I'm the one who left that lovely aroma for all to experience. I could just die.

So the next time you walk into a bathroom that reeks of yesterday's taco and refried bean dinner, I'm just telling you it wasn't me.