“Dave, drop a load on ’em”
First, my apologies go out to Treach, Vin Rock, and DJ Kay Gee. I am not referring to the “OPP” in the now famous 1991 smash single by Naughy by Nature. It might be easier that way. I did not fall victim to other people’s “property,” “penis,” or “pussy”…but POOP.
That’s right…other people’s poop.
You might be asking yourself what I am referring to. I think this is a growing epidemic in the office environment that needs to be addressed. Do not think of this as comedy writing. Please think of this as a public service announcement. This will be followed by a rigorous letter-writing campaign and several leaflet droppings over the ten major cities across the United States.
“OPP” refers to the blame you receive when you use a public restroom and are blamed for the smell of another person’s body sausage.
This happened to me today in my usual bathroom stall. Let’s set the stage:
There are two stalls where I work. The stalls are within inches of the three urinals lined up next to it. Now, I won’t get into the logistics of a proper men’s restroom set up. That being said, this small room is designed like a firing squad of human waste elimination. It’s the perfect storm for OPP, whether you like it or not. The close proximity of toilets to sinks/door, coupled with the stale and uncirculating air, makes it an ideal place for your latest cash deposit to linger like a fever dream from some 11-year-old Yankee Candle maker.
Did you have to let it linger? Oh, I’m such a fool for stool.
So I went in to use the urinal. Three cups of coffee within an hour and a half period will do that to anyone. I noticed the smell right away. About midway through my elimination, the toilet flushes and the gentleman (who shall remain nameless) exits out of the stall.
The smell assaulted my nostrils in a way that can only be described as “terrorism of the senses.” I don’t think the CIA is using torture effectively anymore. We need to get a list of this guy’s personal diet and we will be defeating ISIS in no time. In any case, he quickly washes his hands and exits before I even finish at the urinal. As I flush and make my way to wash my hands, I notice another colleague walking in. He immediately uses two senses: sight and smell. That being, he smells the horrible odor coming from the bathroom and sees me marching towards the sink like some lost dog looking for its master.
We both made the mistake of making direct eye contact within 1 second of seeing each other. By then, the damage was already done. He immediately throws me a disapproving look, complete with upturned nose. We both know each other well, although we work in different organizations. Both organizations have meetings together quite frequently. What am I going to do when we have our next pow wow to talk about the next project we are working on? He is going to stare at me and remember one thing: that smell. My OPP curse.
All I wanted to do is stare at him while he was peeing and yell “IT WASN’T ME. I DIDNT MAKE THAT! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! PLEASEEEEEEEEE!!!!”
But I can’t. It’s too awkward. OPP is the kind of catch-22 that you cannot get out of, unless you want to risk further embarrassment from talking about said offensive smell. I’m not saying I have never been on the other end of this dilemma. I can’t say I haven’t shot accusations at certain people, or questioned their need to seek medical help. But I never did. I never suggested that energy drinks and peanut butter does not a happy tummy make. I’m not an animal, for God sakes.
Because OPP is OPP. And I am not down with it.
Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island 