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To the coworker who left the adjoining toilet stall today at the same time I did:

It's forever seared in my ears the sounds you made, my soul feels the battle you fought, and my eyes will never forget the face, a face that I see every day, of the man who had explosive, nuclear, anus-wrecking chunky yet liquid shits right after lunch. What's done can never be undone.

We cannot go back to the days of anonymity where your face represented only a fellow wage slave. I now know of your internal struggles on a level too intimate for comfort.

Instead of waiting another 45 seconds for me to wash my hands and leave, you stealthily readied yourself, a stark contrast to your previous state, and reentered the public space as I did, robbing me of the luxury of hearing you and choosing to wait in the anonymity of my stall, sparing the both of us awkward, thin-lipped nods as we walked to the sinks.

Worse still, you struck up a conversation with me as we were washing hands, furthering the trauma by forever forcing me to associate my favorite coffee with the heinous acts you committed two feet from me.

I can now recognize the tones from both ends of your body, and I resent you for it.

- Your coworker who will feel unclean after 10,000 baths