..those who poo at the office and those who don't / can't / won't.
And I fall into the latter category, pretty damn firmly I might add.
I'm a home loving bird who likes my own toilet and has a certain level of bowel discipline that others, I fear, just don't possess, or perhaps don't want to possess. The whole procedure involved in dropping number twos in my own bathroom is one of life's luxurious tasks, when done properly.
I like to start by getting comfortable. This, and I tell you at the risk of giving away way too much information, necessitates some removal of clothes. Trousers and pants that is. I find that this lets me widen my legs by the correct angle, thereby ensuring the aperture is open the right amount. A half closed aperture, which happens so often if I'm caught short and have to do the dirty at work, can often make wiping one of those messy, dirty, use the best part of a whole toilet roll type of jobs.
Comfort and relaxation also involves, crucial for men but strangely not for women, one's choice of reading matter. I'm of course partial to a drumming magazine, but failing that a good car mag or perhaps a mens' magazine (no, not that sort) will happily suffice. The important point here is that no self respecting man wants a title that involves too much of the written word. Brief paragraphs are ideal, preferably if they're extended captions for photographs. Any more than that and we lose our place too easily between strains and plops.
Most men like to glance down into the pan to admire our work and there's nothing worse than when you do that and lose your place in a complicated article about the state of the economy in Europe or something. I also find a bit of straining can make me take my eyes off the page and lose my place. It's just easier and simpler to only have to think of a big picture of a Ferrari to have to refocus on.
All of this very personal stuff is only really possible when I'm at home. I once worked in a rather large shop and there was a bloke who'd go into the staff toilet every morning without fail with a cup of coffee and that day's issue of The Sun. It was disgusting. Cultured and classy chaps like me draw a line somewhere.
And, you know when you've unloaded one of those quite large and firm logs? Not too long, not the kind that just slide into the water gently like a snake and definitely not the little rabbit dropping sort that go "plop" but have no splashback either. I'm talking about those very distinct medium size but heavy ones, the ones that have an impact that splashes.
Well there's nothing worse than the thought of someone else's germs, poo and urine being mixed in with the ingredients of the splashback water is there? I know a fellow who always used to lay a "lining" of toilet paper in the pan before he started. Ostensibly it was to prevent the noise of the splashes but I wouldn't be surprised if it was also to prevent the splash germ thing.
Smell is another factor. Let's face it, we all love the smell of our own emissions. They're our own work and they smell interesting and fascinating, whereas other's people's ones are just plain foul. And a toilet that has even the vaguest hint of odour from previous occupants is merely a toilet. As a parent I can say that one's own kids fall into an in between category. The older they get the worse the smell tends to be. That's with two daughters, God alone knows what I'd think if I had boys.
But, the thing is, none of these things matter when I'm at home.
There are times when I've been forced to pay a visit whilst at work. It's almost always satisfying, most likely because I've spent the previous few hours doing my utmost to keep it in until I get home, but I feel as if I'm cheating on my home toilet.
I kind of envy those chaps who just pop off to any toilet anywhere, do their business and then carry on with their day as if they're normal. One friend of mine goes regularly through the course of the day about five or six times and most of these are at work. Mind you, he's a highly successful solicitor so may well have personalised toilets and a little Filipino boy to wipe his arse.
But no, that's not for me. I'm a home loving chap.
Except when necessity strikes.
Which one are you?