Kitties. Fried Chicken. Poo Friends.

I work in this building downtown. It’s shiny. From the outside it looks like a massive phallic mirror (I assume this was an attempt at looking modern. That, or the designers were narcissists). Inside, it holds a number of lavatories… and an even greater number of dysfunctional poo poo-ers. As a fellow blogger colleague of mine has referenced in a number of his blogs—there are some rather comical scenes to be observed in the restroom.

Firstly, I’ll preface by bringing up a subject we all struggle with: the work place poo. (stop blushing. It’s healthy and enjoyable to drop the kids off at the pool at least once a day.) So, in facing the potential dilemmas associated with the work place poo we all strategize. We scour for a hidden bathroom. We plan for low traffic hours. We dawdle around at the drinking fountain until we are certain the coast is clear. Well, friends, today I’ve encountered an entirely new strategy: The Poo Friend.

I’m overjoyed that the first Poo Friends I ran into just happened to be hillbilly ladies. I couldn’t have asked for a better first experience. So I enter the bathroom to find 2 hillbilly ladies pooing together and talking about how they both love to feed Church’s Fried Chicken to their cats. This is not a joke. I can only assume they work in the building and plan their poo breaks together.

I would hear one lady start to do some tooting, then the other lady would start fiddling with the toilet paper dispenser to cause audible distraction. They had definitely come to an understanding at some point--- this was a team effort. Maybe once at a previous work place poo experience--- before they were Poo Friends--- they both made some embarrassing sounds--- both walked out heads hung low--- made eye contact in the mirror--- and EUREKA! Poo Friends! I imagine they have some code. Maybe some toe tapping. Maybe when it’s poo time one friend walks by the other friend’s cubicle eating a chocolate candy bar. It’s hard to say.

I’m not sure when or where they decided it was a good idea to feed their kitties Church’s fried chicken (or name a pet “Whitey” for that matter, I think I smell a Klan revival over the pungent scent of poo)…

You know how they say that 90% (or whatever) of important business deals are made on the golf course? Well, 95% of hillbilly lady’s pet care decisions are made on the 2nd floor shitter.