Another reason why I hate cell phones...

[myamoto1]

WTF?!?!?!

I walk into the can at work and there's a guy at the urnial taking a leak and chatting on his phone. Not only does the person on the other end of the phone have to listen to him take a leak, there's a guy dropping the kids off at the pool and it sounded like they didn't want to go...

Are people that tied to their cell phones that they can't put them down for a minute?

[dhoward]

People like that think they're more important than what they are....

[dafischer]

When I go into the crapper at work, and there's someone on the hopper on a cell phone conversation, I like to flush all the toilets one by one.

Just so the person on the other end realizes he/she is talking to someone that's pinching a loaf.

[Jared at Pelican Parts]

"All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the
process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch
at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with
subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things
would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1.Occupied.

2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3.Poo on seat.

4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and
sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds
of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone
conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of
Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer
cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand
against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded
with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone
ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not
unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency
of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had
ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear
that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear
that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and
blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in
me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later,
in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now,
all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..."
followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at
the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding
down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear
words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I
could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal
announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily
into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a
fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him
running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew
that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that
unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.
Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom
with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a
face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom."

[widgeon13]

I love the convenience of a cell phone and I have an iphone but there is no way I would even take it out in the bathroom if it rings.

I want to choke people on airplanes that as soon as the thing is on the ground grab the phone and report to some idiot on the other end, yes hun, I just landed or I'll be at AA baggage claim. Better still, Hi sweetheart, what's the room number, I'll be there in 20 minutes, love you! Get the hot oil ready!

JF's tale is priceless!!

[whiskyb]

Jared, now that story made me snort coffee everywhere!

[onewhippedpuppy]

Jared, I'm sure my co-workers are very curious as to why I am laughing so hard I'm crying.

[trekkor]

That story has made the rounds... And I love it


KT

[URY914]

I was pulling up my drawers one day after filling the bowl and my cell phone unclipped from my belt. It danced arong the toilet seat and hit three times before it finallly fell on the floor.
If it has fallen it I was perpared to just walk away.

[masraum]

I don't do cell phone in the bathroom. If my phone rings, I send them to VM regardless of who it is.

I also don't want to talk to anyone that's in the restroom. So if I call and you're on the toilet, just don't answer.

[Tishabet]

One Saturday I was out and about with the wife when I got a call that there was something disastrous going on with an important server at work. I was already in the car and only 5-10 minutes from the office, so I headed over to see if I could fix the issue.
While we were there, my wife went to the ladies room. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the pocket in the front. She stood up, reached over to hit the toilet flush lever, and her cell phone fell out of the sweatshirt pocket and into the flushing toilet. GONE! I guess those industrial toilets are really up for anything!
I tried to call it, but no dice

[T77911S]

Originally Posted by myamoto1

WTF?!?!?!

I walk into the can at work and there's a guy at the urnial taking a leak and chatting on his phone. Not only does the person on the other end of the phone have to listen to him take a leak, there's a guy dropping the kids off at the pool and it sounded like they didn't want to go...

Are people that tied to their cell phones that they can't put them down for a minute?

its the ones that walk around with the blue tooth things in their ear 24/7. sorry if some of you do this, but take thing off if your not talking on the phone. reminds of when cells first came out, you would see kids walking around talking on a dead phone to look cool.
my brother has one, i HATE it, when i talk to him, there is this anoying delay that puts my voice back into my ear.

[URY914]

I agree with the blue tooth ear pieces. Kinda like the guys that carry around a ring of keys on their belt and two beepers to look important to the world.

[speeder]

People in the wireless industry, (retail/service), can tell you that phones falling in toilets is an extremely common experience. It's never happened to me, not even close. The idea of talking to someone on the phone while in a public restroom with background noise is beyond the pale.

[peppy]

Jared that was hilarious.

My wife works with a lady that was on a corded phone and had to crap. She went in the litter box.

[m21sniper]

Originally Posted by Jared Fenton

"All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the
process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch
at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with
subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things
would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1.Occupied.

2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3.Poo on seat.

4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and
sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds
of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone
conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of
Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer
cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand
against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded
with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone
ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not
unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency
of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had
ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear
that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear
that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and
blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in
me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later,
in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now,
all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..."
followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at
the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding
down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear
words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I
could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal
announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily
into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a
fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him
running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew
that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that
unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.
Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom
with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a
face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom."

3 minutes of CONTINUOUS laughter.

LOL....

[m21sniper]

Originally Posted by T77911S

its the ones that walk around with the blue tooth things in their ear 24/7. sorry if some of you do this, but take thing off if your not talking on the phone.

Agreed 100%

These people are assclowns of unimaginable proportions.

[RWebb]

I am often tempted to pluck out the offending object...


re: "Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one."
- Are you kidding me?? In Santa Monica??? C'mon!

[myamoto1]

Jared - you should warn folks before you post something like that. I was on a conference call and uhhh multi-tasking and barely got to the mute button in time.

[QUOTE=RWebb;4610498]I am often tempted to pluck out the offending object...[QUOTE]

I used to sit 2 cubes down from our company's cell phone guy and he had a wall of shame for all of the broken phones. He'd always relay stories about who dropped their phone in the can. Not many make it back, since they're company owned.

[Zeke]

Originally Posted by widgeon13

I want to choke people on airplanes that as soon as the thing is on the ground grab the phone and report to some idiot on the other end, yes hun, I just landed or I'll be at AA baggage claim.

Well, get ready to choke me then. The thing is a tool and I use whatever tools that will help me out, like in that scenario.