Fear Of: Pooping in Public

I hate the 'plop' that poop makes when it hits the water. There is nothing more privacy inhibiting, more wince inducing or more upchuck worthy to me than hearing poo dropping into a toilet. For some reason, not only does it cause supreme aural discomfort, it also prevents me from feeling comfortable in any way with taking care of my own business. There's something so perverse to me about bodily function sounds. Like, isn't that the last thing you would want to share with anyone? Because, p.s. Cosmopolitan just featured a little ditty on how the last thing you should ever do in front of your BF is, you got it, taking a pee or a poop. So unsexy. But if you can't do it in front of someone who loves you, how are you supposed to do it in front of complete strangers?

Flatulence I can handle. Okay, correction, flatulence with pants up I can handle. But think about all those times you've just run in for a quick number 1, and all of the sudden the stall next to you lets out an explosive, soppy sounding blow of the buttocks. Is there anything more humorous, or disgusting, than knowing that the person next to you has a stomach which firmly protests everything that they just ate? Strangely, I would rather hear a woman vomiting than pooping, (I'll blame that on four years of hyper-familiarity with binge drinking in college) because even if it's coming out of her mouth and her nose is unfortunately close to the toilet water, nothing is coming out as bio-degraded smelly brown junk.

Which, of course, means that if I can't even hear other people do it, how could I possibly force my own pathetically vomit inducing sounds on them? This isn't to say that I won't ever use a public toilet, just that I'll avoid one if possible. If I walk into the bathroom, and find someone else jauntily dropping a number 2, I'll leave them to it -- unless it's a really dire situation, in which case, I could give a flying monkey what anyone else is doing. It's particularly bad in those small bathrooms. The ones you find in bookstores or medium sized restaurants where, if it's busy, there's a long line and a steady stream of customers entering and exiting. With only a few stalls, there's nowhere to run if you have an emergency. But, what's worse, is knowing that your shoes are showing and there's probably at least one person who will glance beneath the stall door as you let loose a trumpet like sound so they can smirk at you when you return to your table. Those are the absolute worst. However, in bathrooms filled with 10 or more stalls, I am happy to find one in a far off corner and do whatever I need to do. Is that a fear of intimacy? (Hyuk.) A fear of sharing myself with others? Or is that a fear of someone discovering my coveted secret and badmouthing me to the world? Hrmm, in retrospect this is probably my middle school, toothpaste filled oreo eating self running in terror from the big bad bitches of 7th grade.

My friend recently called me out on my poo hesitancy. While visiting her in LA, a few friends and I were all crashing in her apartment. 24/7 with your closest friends means there's no hiding when you've got to do your grossest deeds, and it also means that at any time during the day you will have a conspicuous absence from conversation assuming that you're relatively regular.

I disappeared for a short period of time one evening -- this is where they would all tell me my "short" is everyone else's "long" -- and attempted to tend to my needs as quickly as possible. Upon stepping back into the living room where everyone was conversing pleasantly, one of them turned to me and promptly said, "take a poop?" Here is where my dilemma arose, dear readers. I could tell them the truth, and say "why, yes! And it was quite a good one indeed." OR I could slink away and mumble beneath my breath that I'd been flossing, brushing my hair, and putting on make-up (which I never wear). Choose your own adventure, kiddies. Which did I go for?

"uhhhhhhhhhhh......"

Neither, apparently. I just froze in place. Which is when my other friend promptly stated, "Awww, See, you're a shy poo-er!" And I blushed, and we all laughed, and I realized that I have a serious problem with publicly taking care of my business as they all regaled me with their own stories of public humiliation at the hands of their sphincters. (That's the type of stuff that friends of 10 years can talk about. Or really, scarily open people talk about over drunken dinners.)

This only became worse when I was at a Borders bookstore earlier this week, and after entering the ladies room to wash my hands, I was confronted with a resounding "pppppppppfffffftttttttttt!" Embarrassed for her and for myself, I did a quick sud and wash session then looked around wildly for a hand dryer. Because I know the only thing that would make me comfortable with continuing on my poo adventures if I were her, was if a sound was there to cover it up. Alas! There was no hand dryer in sight, and I could tell that since it'd been a good few minutes between my entrance and her last flatulence release -- and not a flush or move for the toilet paper at all -- she was nervous and doing her best to prevent another unfortunate butt alarm from popping out. That's when I heard it, the peep of farts, the blippy-like "pft!" and I ran for the door just in time to avoid blippy-fart's older brother from appearing, explosive diarrhea.

The moral of this story, friends, is that poop shy folk are all around you. If you are not among our masses, I commend you on your power and strength in owning your bodily functions. If you're reading this and emphatically nodding your head in agreement, trust me, I know where you're coming from. Do not be afraid of your fear, for you are not alone.

Today's phobia is: poopie-plopping-in-water-phobia.