Toilet Etiquette at Work

Are there still people working in the jacks in pubs selling the squirt of lynx or joop?

“Wash your fingers for the mingers” - A phrase used by the lad in the jacks in Cronins in NCW.

we’ve moved to a new building a couple of weeks ago. on my first day I heard something similar to the above; it sounded like a cat wailing followed by chainsaw starting

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The psyllium husk sort you out ?

blacks in the jacks?

They did indeed.

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You cant say that but yeah. :slight_smile:

That was a headline in The Slate magazine around the early 00s…

ah that was 00’s you could say that then. Anyways are they still in the jacks? Thought the recession would have killed that profession.

In an attempt to save water, my workplace has implemented some sort of electronic flushing system in the jacks. As a result, it seems not enough water is being released from the cistern to flush the shit down the toilet and leaving the toilets in nasty condition (blocked up with toilet paper and/or shit)

Not a pleasant sight when you need to go about your business…

I’ve been listening to that rogan/musk podcast on AI. You’ve helped put things in perspective

I just figuratively unmasked a work colleague I’d christened “The Phantom Squeezer”. It marks the end of my private investigation lasting over 6 months, and the scenes were truly remarkable. I’m still shaking here.

I mentioned at the start of this thread about engaging in psychological warfare and not being shy about loudly emptying your bowels in a row of work cubicles, but things in work took an obscene turn last summer.

More and more regularly, I’d be in one of the three cubicles only to be met with an absolute volley of sounds from a neighbouring one. Not just farting/shitting noises but anguished cries and squeals accompanied by fists banging off the plywood partition, as if it was an abducted child trying to escape.

It was genuinely mental and unsettling, but the offender didn’t have any qualms about the scenes they were creating. He might arrive into the bathroom and surely notice at least one, if not two, occupied cubicles, but he wouldn’t flinch. Company never prevented him from unleashing his repertoire of tricks. And our cubicles aren’t the self contained, sound proof type. As I say, there’s a partition structure with a thin piece of board separating each unit and there’s also a petrifying 6-inch gap between the end of the wood and the ground. It’s easy to hear sounds.

But The Phantom Squeezer wouldn’t be fazed by an adjoining shitter or either by someone using the sink or hand-dryer as long as he was safely ensconced in his cubicle. He did, however, protect his anonymity in that he wouldn’t emerge from his lair if someone else was at the sink or loitering in the bathroom.

My interest was disturbingly piqued when it happened a few times and I wanted to find out who this animal was. The trouble was these antics coincided with a consolidation of two separate office locations into our building along with a bit of hiring. It could have been any of these people or, it could have been a sinister incumbent using the cover of the new gang to commence a reign of terror.

There’s been fallow periods but there was actually a recent spell where it seemed I was on the same shitting schedule as this psychopath. I even hammered the partition back myself on one occasion like a tennis player returning serve as a kind of “shut the fuck up, you weird cunt” gesture.

You could literally feel his pain at one sit down last week. He was practically crying as he squeezed for ages with accompanying panting, and then he seemed to shit out a plethora of liquid. It was akin to a blocked tap suddenly coming on full blast to immediately fill up a jug with water. Whatever was inside him must have come gushing out of his arsehole, as he whimpered and made these guttural weepy sounds while hopping his fist off the partition.

The chap must have been in complete agony, and I wondered if he had some illness like colitis or something. But you don’t need to be unwittingly privy to that kind of tumultuous ordeal when you’re trying to have a relaxing shite yourself so I vowed to unmask him if it’s the last thing I do in this job.

I was in trap 3 just after lunch there and I soon realised that The Phantom Squeezer had arrived and taken up position in trap 1. The usual array of baffling activity started and, as usual, even the sound of someone coming in and pissing at the urinal didn’t knock him out of stride. I thought to myself, “I need to shame this cunt” so I launched an off the cuff mission.

I had pretty much finished my wipe at the same time the pisser was washing his hands. I decided to use this general and natural noise to feign joining him. So I zipped up, flushed my toilet and opened the cubicle lock with a purposefully loud and clumsy thud. The pisser was using the hand-dryer at this stage and I used the cover provided to gently re-lock the door from the inside and quietly put the lid down on the toilet. Then I sat in complete silence and waited. Footsteps signaled the pisser’s bathroom departure and, as far as my nemesis was concerned, I was gone too.

The Phantom Squeezer thought he was in splendid isolation and let out a roar and a cry, a litany of farts and probably some liquidy excrement mixed with blood. Still I waited to pounce. I could hear the noise of the toilet roll holder, the tentative wipes, a couple of sobbing sighs as he presumably tended to the stingy parts, the zip up of the fly and finally the toilet flush. He then exited the cubicle and made his way over to the sink. The sound of the (actual) tap coming on was my cue to simultaneously flush my own toilet and exit in one movement. There had to be no time in between as that would have allowed him to make his getaway.

I emerged from trap 3 and was met with an ashen faced colleague staring back at me. I know. He knows. He knows I know. I know he knows I know. I looked straight into his eyes and I saw The Phantom Squeezer.

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:joy:

A classic whodunnit tale of mystery, intrigue and suspense. If I may be a little critical there could have been more detail on who the phantom squeezer turned out to be. But otherwise a splendid tale of derring poo.

:clap::clap:

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“I looked into the Phantom Squeezer’s eyes. It was the mirror. I was looking at the mirror. I am the Phantom Squeezer” …

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He’s admitted as much below

TNH

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Which poses serious questions

Better ending than the game of thrones, pardon the pun

Poty. :clap::clap::clap::clap::clap: