Today I was enjoying my morning...ahem...stall time, and something startled me. A pair of tan Oxfords and a sudden shadow, then *KNOCK KNOCK*
It was almost a question, as if the sound itself was demanding an answer. As most people in ...compromising... positions do, I had a minor panic for half a second before I heard someone else say "y-yes?" from my throat. Seriously? Was that my voice?
The shadow through the cracks jumped a bit, the Oxfords turned quickly as if not expecting a reply at all. The horror I had felt from the tall, shadowy figure turned immediately to anger.
Who knocks on a closed stall door?
There are 6 bathrooms on this floor alone, what sort of adult person is so lazy that they can't walk to a different bathroom?
I thought, maybe they are desperate? Then immediately- so what? It's not like there are children in this office who can't wait, and it's not like I can finish my business and fly out the door in the amount of time it takes to walk to the end of the hall. What is Mr. Brown Oxfords thinking anyway?
My mood soured.
Since Stall-Knocker didn't respond, and forced me to yelp on the pot, I heard Red Foreman send him on his way with a particularly sharp "Dumbass!"
This made Stall-Knocker jump, and the Oxfords practically ran out the door.
Serves you right, SK. You should know to let people poop in peace.
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