After lying low plotting their next dastardly attack the phantom poo’er has returned with a vengeance and judging by the ferocity with which the lavatories have been defaced I would wager, reinforcements! This week has seen a escalation in violence not seen since the coffee shop foolishly marked all its muffins half price and the fatties in accounting upon hearing the news started a stampede which left 3 muffins dead (all blue berry low calorie) and 14 missing, presumed consumed (all double chocolate) Rumour has it that the spotty work experience boy who tried to hold back the wobbly hordes was recovered from the recycling bin covered in jam and bite marks……he hasn’t spoken since.
Since my world exclusive expose things have been all quiet on the toilet front, attacks have been on the wane and harmony has been well on the way to being restored in the Pooniverse (sorry!) alas dear reader your poor intrepid lavatory guardian has been hoodwinked, lulled into a false sense of security and had the wool pulled well and truly over his eyes, all at the same time!
Not content with leaving his own brand of foul calling cards around the gents as previously reported the Phantom poo’er, has gone a step further and has sabotaged both urinals and three of the five traps available to my floor not only causing a massive back flow of turgid rusty water on top of which floats the odd pube crouton but has also caused the facilities maintenance associate (or whatever they call cleaners these days) to have a massive stress induced prolapse, word is that he and the spotty lad from the shop have been seen hiding in a skip round the back of the bike sheds (where the receptionists augment their income) sporting the kind of thousand yard stares seen on combat veterans and my sociopathic cat.
Those lacking moral fibre (although one could argue a lack of fibre could be a good thing under the circumstances) have been seen to be hoarding napkins and trying to con the pin code to the disabled toilet from the only bona fide user on our floor, who unfortunately has crumbled under the insidious barrage and has resorted to writing ‘fuck off I’m not sharing’ in lipstick on his forehead, attaching sharpened lever arch files to his wheels and barricaded himself in the stationary cupboard, those of us made of sterner stuff are waiting for his batteries to drain before retrieving him.
My optimism, as always is tempered with realism so I have ordered myself a chamber pot from our provisioning team under the guise of needing it for a client meeting, I am awaiting their response (it is bone china with a lovely embossed blue floral print) but in the mean time will continue to keep making the long, lonely and on occasion cloth touchingly perilous journey to the bog in reception. I may have lost the battle but I’ll win the war because now I’ve narrowed down the possible culprits, there are only two people on this floor capable of organising a clandestine operation on this scale and one of them is me, watch this space reader, watch this space……
This morning the postman delivered my new level three decontamination suit. I looked forward with buttock relaxing relief to being able once more to use the aforementioned lavatories.
A few minutes with a knife and some sticky back plastic were well spent. I donned the outfit and checked myself in the mirror. Yes! I looked like a cross between a latex fetishist and Mulch Diggums; complete with bum-flap. Maybe a little OTT but needs must I suppose. Dressing in the appropriate work gear over the top was a little difficult, as was disguising the hood as an unsightly hump, however the thought of being able to empty my bowels in relative safety kept my spirits up all morning.
With six hours of back to back meetings behind me the time was near. I staggered to the cubicle of my choice in the knowledge that regardless of any action faeces-and-snot-man may have taken I was safe.
The gods were being kind to me. Cubicle three was empty. I fastened my hood and stepped in with unshakable certainty that TODAY – Yes damn it! Today I would be able to shed the burden without fear.
Half in and half out of the cubicle I stood; rooted to the spot. Looking to the left and right I saw it. Slowly working its way down the walls….reaching the bottom of the cubicle divider and hanging in bulbous masses, reaching critical mass…stretching and then oozing silently into the pools of translucent fluid underneath.
Brain said “No” and refused to speculate.
As I left the room I could not help but wonder if this was a new pastime of faeces-and-snot-man, or whether he has found himself a friend.