Where the big Dawgs come to play

Do you know what it's like to sit and watch another man poop? I do.

It all starts with the entrance followed by a reassuring wipe down. You never can be too careful. They tell me that I am rubbing white toilet paper on the shiny white seat. Instead of seeing any blots of contrasting brown or yellow, I am able to tell when my hand snags on a wet spot. I sit down and take my place with anticipation of the show. I know I am here for my own business, but after so many years it’s one of my most automated tasks.

The show begins. I watch two men sit and disrobe as the smooth jazz plays in the background. At this point, I wish I could devote more thought to my work. There is nothing in this room to distract me from watching these men. It starts with the crackling. I watch as it exits their bodies in its imperfect wrinkled shell. I think back to the times I would leave a Snickers bar in my pocket on a hot summer day and my mom would remedy the situation by putting it in the freezer. These reshaped cracks, slowly coming out of the men, make a slight crackle as any gas that was in them escapes. I pay some attention to the speed of the crackling to judge its velocity, but my mind is set firmly on the future. It is the inevitable splash I am focused on. If I get too caught up in the splashes, I can sometimes get disoriented. Am I watching a man use a urinal or is this constant bubbly slashing from a thin runny crackles mess?

I wish I could turn my eyes away. I wish I didn’t have to watch all these men. I wish they didn’t ask me how my day was during the wash-up after. If you ever think the super hero Daredevil was lucky, think again. I can only imagine how many men he has had to watch empty their bowels at once. This world does not have thin wood barriers to block our eyes. I poop with you, I watch you, and I hate it.

The End.