It is 2:34 pm and you may (or may not) have taken a lil cat-nap during the call with investors (what do you expect when the conference room feels like my mom's womb). After your second trip to Starbucks (No, the hot Indie-chick wasn't there), you have another client meeting - it is "Bob" on two and he is not a fan of the tall cafe moca.
Go time!
All that stands between you and well . . . the meeting is the walk of shame past Amy (the admin) - There is no way to play it off: She knows you went with the barbacoa burrito (you were hungover) and she knows the clock is ticking (the sweat on the upper lip doesn't help). But before she can smirk at your clinched butt taking Gary Coleman strides down the hallway, the phone rings and Amy is off to the copy room - You capitalize on this opportunity and make it past her desk before kittens can glide across her screen (take notes interns).
As you enter the drop zone for phase 2 (In & out with no casualties), you are overjoyed when you see your throne is vacant (second one on the left - a home away from home). However, you quickly realize that you are not alone. You cannot see shoes but the sound of blackberry buttons clicking are all you need to know (toilet emails - amateur). So a barrel roll into your safe zone keeps your identity a secret (you are a ninja of bathroom attacks).
Just a few text messages and an unpleasant splash later (No mission is perfect) the work is done . . . mission accomplished. However, there is a problem - John Doe is still at large. He ignored your flush signal (followed by the toilet roll jingle) and now he is brushing his teeth - I hate this guy. Rather than risk your identity being exposed, you sit, wait and pray no one else enters the perimeter (we might be here all night).
After a quick floss this communist has left, you crash through the stall door and wash yourself of any evidence. After a successful round with the blowers and confirming zero tissue on the kicks, we are all but home free . . . but something doesn't feel right.
The door opens and the CEO strolls in (you have been compromised). He gives a nod with his head but a "Holy Sh*t" with his eyes - the John Doe aroma has grown stronger. As the only possible suspect, there is nothing that can be said, you leave before he sees tears (that is going on the review).
The walk back to the cube is painful but not all is lost - Amy is now elbows deep in a paper jam so you glide into your swivel-chair unnoticed (I have been here the entire time). Moments later she drops off some copies (still hot) and you shoot her the air gun . . .
(Office) Poop'n ain't easy.
