Just be thankful it's not a scratch and sniff post

It seems that I am a creature of sheer luck, and every time I utilize the facilities where I work, it is inevitable that a certain woman from another department will follow me in there. It can't be planned, I'm certain - but it boils down to this:

It's foul.

From the sounds, the odd intermittent noises, the grunts and sighs and noises that couldn't possibly emanate from a mouth - my conclusion was - that can't be human.

I've got a strong stomach, and I'm very good at holding the hair of a loved one whilst they vomit or partake of something similar. This, however, I cannot endure. I find myself gagging at the sounds - my mouth watering that ungodly amount that indicates "Look out, Bitches - you're gonna hurl!" If I can get past it - the battle's only half over.

I can't leave my stall - I'm trapped in my stall of hell. She saw me enter, and I am frozen in fear and horror - doomed to cower in there silently until the ordeal has finished.

Phase II begins immediately after, with the foulest odors one could imagine. I would prefer to stick my nose deep within the rotting intestinal cavity of a 3 week old corpse that had been in the trunk of a parked car sitting in the sun who's last meal consisted solely of vast amounts of cabbage.

I want to scream "Courtesy Flush Please!!!" but it's no secret who I am, and I'd only drool out the saliva in my mouth that is pooling there while trying not to vomit.

At this point I'm breathing through my mouth and trying not to drown from my watering mouth. Breathing through my nose is NOT an option. Fleeting images of random things pop into my head that further disgust me - 2 girls/1 cup; possible escape routes blocked by mounds of feces; hot dogs; opening the stall door and finding a sloth-like dragon in the stall who belches a little smoke and asks me to excuse her because she ate too many villagers and it upset her tummy.

Unfortunately, there is no polite dragon. Only the beast within the other stall. I finally hear a gurgling flush as the toilet struggles to take in the damage. The grunting continues as I imagine the poor soul/evil creature who did this is adjusting themselves in the stall. I hear flush number two, as the toilet sucks down much more fluidly than the first time. I can picture the possible marks left on the porcelain and I shudder.

Seconds drag and I finally hear the latch to the stall slide open and she strolls to the sinks while the toilet flushes for the third time. the main door opens and closes and there is silence. I grab my opportunity, and run from the stall and bathroom , down an opposite corridor, gulping fresh air as I run. I wait down the hall until I feel it's safe, and make my way back to my department, holding my breath as I hurried past the bathroom.

Why my timing is such that I endure this ritual at least 3 times in any given week, I'll never know.