No Couth in the Bathroom

Another Monday, another Atkins adventure with New Person. Remember this one? If you bring out the Cubicle map from episode one, she's the one that sits directly across from me reeking of bacon bits and Aussie.

For the entire month she has been with Codsucking Company, Inc., she has done absolutely nothing of substance. She literally surfs the Internet all day, updating us on new carb free solutions to her failure of a diet and what Hollywood star is celebrating their birthday.

"Can you believe that Chris Tucker is thirty-five? Remember his first movie where he was a crack head?"

I said in my head, "No, bitch, because that was Chris Rock. All black people don't look alike."

New Person spoke with Bacon Bits in her fangs, "What time are you girls going into the kitchen to eat lunch? I'm so excited about what I brought to eat. We can discuss American Idol."

Jesus, help us and guide us and tie this bitch's toes behind her Atkins ass.

I just wanted to get another shitty lunch out of the way. "Let's eat now. I'll round up the rest." After all, I wasn't going to be miserable alone.

New Person ruined my hopes of a peaceful and Aussie free smelling lunch. I think of ways to get her back. I write a note to myself to hide her bacon bits.

As soon as New Person brought out her assortment of Atkins originals, the fun began. I immediately threw up in my mouth when I saw New Person rolling a Slim Jim into a melted string cheese tortilla.

As she spoke, a piece of Slim Jim few from her mouth, landing on her size small shirt (Please note that she is a size large). "I just love the guy in American Idol that had the tracheotomy. Imagine if the doctors were right when they said he would never talk again. So sad!"

Yeast said nothing as she ate her third serving of cottage cheese. All she eats is cottage cheese and pickle juice. I guess those are easier to throw up. Despite her recent bulimia, she hasn't lost any weight. It has to be because of all the yeast in her panties. She is more swollen from the waist down.

Lunch finally ended, the torture long and painful. I go to the bathroom to wash my hands in case some Slim Jim got on me. As I entered the bathroom, something greeted me; something fucking hideous reeked from the stall. I decided it was a mixture of baby shit and a paper mill. I threw up in my mouth for the second time today when a voice echoed from the Stinky Stall, "That last carb bar did not agree with me."

I think I heard a plop.

New Person farts, "Don't mind me, I'm done."

Excuse me. Don't mind your ass that is radiating the smell. I tried to leave, but I froze. I don't know if it was the shit smell or the throw up in my mouth that forced me to stay in the Smell Hell.

She exited the Stinky Stall. The aroma was more evident as she came to the mirror. I watched in awe as she applied her lip-gloss with her finger. The same finger on the same hand that she did not wash that just wiped her fat ass.

"Well, I gotta check on the final jury selection for the Michael Jackson case. Can you believe no black people are included on the panel? I guess he said it best with the hit song, 'It Doesn't Matter if it's Black or White."

"Yeah. I hope his 'Beat It' hit didn't apply to his current kid convictions." I went along in a hypnotic state. The smell had gotten into my mouth. I could taste it now.

She left the crime scene quickly escaping the soap and water act, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I was officially mortified by this most recent act of New Person.

Yeast walked in. "Damn, bitch, what did you eat? Sick."

Great, now she things I dropped the Slim Jim.

Please don't allow this to happen to you. Necessary steps for prevention are as follows.

Number one, if you have to poop, go to the ground level bathroom where no coworkers can walk in on you. For God's sake, we will know your shoes. Number two, if you go to the bathroom on your floor and have a surprise poo, please flush repeatedly, no talking and wash your fucking hands. Finally, number three, Michael Jackson is fucking guilty, and it doesn't matter if he is black or white.

©2007 Jessica Smith