More Toilet Humour

The reason for my email, and the time that will always stick in my head (I still wake up in the night in a cold sweat) and the time I felt like a total minion, a tool of his regime was shortly after the building was regaled with a new oven in the staff canteen. There had been some installation issues with the device which had caused the electricity in the building to cut out several times in the week and whilst it was being investigated, we had to work in suspense not knowing when we might be plunged into relative darkness.

 

The moment of revulsion was a sheer mix of bad timing; too much water on my part, the poor workmanship of a workshy electrician and poor design of a windowless toilet. I proceeded to head towards the toilet as usual and, having done what I needed, I moved to the sink to wash my hands only for the door to open and my boss to walk in. Taking up the position, he simultaneously unzipped his fly and farted (to this day I am unsure if this was an attempt to exhibit some display of lower body dexterity) at which point, as if responding to the fart, the power went out and the room was plunged into complete darkness.

 

I guess it was my own fault for not getting out the room quick enough, or maybe for washing my hands a little too long but there we were, alone in the darkness. Now, I have always been brought up to be prepared and this time was no different, I always carried a mini Maglite torch on my keyring for those lost key moments late in the evening. I turned the torch on and proceeded to finish washing up before moving to the exit. It was pretty much as I turned the torch on that my boss called me. ‘Here ******* come and hold that torch over here so I can see what I’m aiming at’. I was trapped, in the dark, the room filling with ass fumes, being asked to shine a torch onto my boss’ genitals so he could piss in a straight line. There was no other option, the minion had been summoned, I moved to his right shoulder and not looking in any direction other than the ceiling, I aimed the torch in a general downwards direction.

 

The urine stream sounded to be unending, his aftershave curled under my nostrils, cheap cologne mixing with the occasional fart released during his urination process, all the time giving me verbal instructions like a perverse and appropriately named ‘Golden Shot’. After what felt like an eternity, he shook himself dry, possibly to watch the drops glisten in the torchlight and I left, made my way silently to my desk and that night began looking for another job, leaving him to wash his hands in darkness.

 

Thanks you for sharing my constant torment with me.