I know I’ve been absent from all your lives for far too long. But I have an excuse.
I got a second job! I know! A brand new thing to hate! Yay, me!
In the meantime, I’ve been up to no good over at my new side-blog, “Goddammit, Jeff.” It’s like this one but, you know, worse.
And over on this side of things, my good buddy Andrew Stillman, The Artist Mindset creator and writer extraordinaire, is stopping by Content Unrelated to talk shit with you guys.
I’ve linked to posts of his before, so if you haven’t clicked them yet, you’re really doing yourselves a disservice.
Stilly, I hope you don’t mind the title. And thanks again for guest-posting. It’s always great working with you.
The majority of my memories don’t come into play until I was about five or six, but random flashbacks remain leftover from some of my earlier years. People who know me well may know I have an issue with people knowing I have to use the restroom. Toilet talk is not cute. The earliest memories I have, too, revolved around this most atrocious of topics.
I had just learned how to walk. Well, I presume the idea of walking was new, but who knows how pro I was at this point. I was staring at the ceiling as I was walking down the hall, making note of how far away it was and wondering how long it would take me to touch it. Nowadays, I stand at a firm six foot five, so the ceiling is mostly in my way. As I was walking, I felt my diaper fill up, and it was my first conscious realization that my body was producing something from the middle area. I’m unsure why, but to this day I always remember that moment, as random, silly, and quite frankly vulgar as it is.
Fast forward perhaps a year or two, when my hatred for public toilets and why I don’t like to talk about going to the bathroom come into play.
I was in preschool, and we all lined up to use the restroom at break time. Well, I had to make a poo poo (because let’s be real, everybody poops.) When I went in, obviously it was going to take me a little longer than the others who were only “going tinkle.” The remaining kids in line behind me stood outside commenting on how long it was taking. That didn’t help me at all, and completely turned my bladder shy (and my colon), causing me to take even longer.
As three-year-olds aren’t often equipped with a load of patience, someone went to find the teacher to complain about how long I was taking. She came in to check on me, and when I told her I was having a hard time “going,” she sat down and gave me some breathing exercises that would help me relax and…well, allow the shit to flow, really.
While that was a nice thing of her to do, she had neglected to shut the door behind her, and the rest of the kids stood in the hall pointing and laughing. So, much like that one guy from “Waiting,” I’m always afraid people are going to comment on how long I’ve been in the bathroom, and it severely stresses me out.
If you’re a teacher reading this, please be aware your students appreciate privacy, regardless of their age.