Toilet Humour

Apparently it's a faux pas to use the ladies when the gents is out of order.

I'll set the scene. We have two individual, sectioned off, bogs on the shared office landing at work, one gents, one ladies. On Friday, having had two coffees in the morning (and the night before a Nepalese curry), I literally started having contractions and had very little time to reach the WC before certain disaster. Upon my emergency arrival, I see that the gents is "Out of Order". There is only the ladies, que sara, this shit is serious. I would have expected a neat and tidy set up, not piss all over the seat - there's one myth dispelled - but I made my swift spruce, went into labour and gave birth to a rather unlucky Barry. Thank the lord above, the relief was golden, but the following aroma was not something to savour. A bitter, haunting scent that would have made a sniffer dog want to retire. Drying my hands, chuckling at the horror that would meet the next poor soul upon entering this box of woe, I thought it best to get the fuck out as quickly as possible.

I opened the door to see not only one lady - but an entire squad of women from a completely female PR firm based on the same floor, all queuing after returning from a long and boozy lunch meeting - and all desperate to use the facilities. The first woman looked at me in surprise then darted into the toilet as I made my rapid escape. As the door closed she gagged so loudly that it snatched the attention of her colleagues, who all glared at me in utter disgust. When the wave of stench hit them their faces displayed a look of alarm and distress normally reserved for finding a slaughtered litter of puppies - and I was the executioner.

Lesson learnt - apparently it's a faux pas to use the ladies when the gents is out of order - even more so when you're dropping radioactive bombs.