The Golden Rules of pooping at work

Posted on April 25, 2012



“There is etiquette to deuce-dropping in the workplace…”

A few years ago a friend of mine started a band called ‘Thursday Bandit’ in honour of a mystery colleague who would routinely blast the Pinworm Cannon in the men’s lavatory and leave a floating souvenir.

No matter how hard they tried, and despite the frightening regularity with which this would happen, they could never figure out who it was.

Over the years, this elusive ass-goblin became known as the Thursday Bandit*.

I was reminded of this as I went discreetly to the toilets at work last Thursday only to find myself involuntarily convulsing on the floor, overcome by the foul stench of a recently deposited Bondi Cigar.

In a women’s toilet, no less.

Like it or not, there is etiquette to deuce-dropping in the workplace and as responsible citizens, we must learn it just like we learn our road rules.

They’re basically the same, EG: When approaching the porcelain roundabout, your ass must always give way to the right.

By my calculations there is around a 1/20 chance that you regularly dance the Green-Apple Quickstep in the workplace, so to clear up any confusion I have compiled a how-to-guide to safely blasting dookies when there are colleagues present.

I can hear already hear the faint cries of the corporate deuce-dropping brethren passionately defending themselves with catchcries about health benefits and irrepressible urges, but I have news for you:


Pooping at work is a last resort activity.  Hell, it might even be a bucket list activity, but it is not, and never should be, a regular activity in the workplace.  It is really only ever permissible in the event of an emergency.

And before you tell me you just can’t suppress the urge, I have it on good authority that a poop can be safely withheld for up to eight hours.

So between 8:30am and 5:30pm your first instinct should always and forever be to hold that Butt Nutt in.  You can loose the Screaming Mimi on your own time.

If it all gets too much and you just know you have to, as Mexican tiger mums would say, ‘make a caca’; do your colleagues a favour and take your Mud Bunnies to a different department on a different floor.

At least that way you can start your own campaign to become a Thursday Bandit.


The reason God invented the disabled toilet was not, in fact, to provide an unsanitary space for drunk teenagers to make out with each other while attending the weddings of older relatives, but rather to spare the working masses from the stench of your pre-digested Turd Burgers.

If the urge to go all ‘Jerry-Go-Nimble’ during your work day becomes overwhelming (no judgement), your first order of business is to shove aside any token ethical conflict and walk through any door which features this sign:

To expedite the process, I recommend learning the location of every disabled toilet within a 500m radius and/or downloading this app for your iPhone.


Seriously.  Spare us.  I’ve heard that a lactose-infused Sphincter Slug was what really killed the dinosaurs. And, as someone who read Dinotopia as a child and dreamed of one day owning a pet Stegosaurus, that’s on you my friend.

Dairy is a wily mistress that will lure you in with her creamy French brie and pretentious lattes and then turn on you like a mongoose in a swamp just as soon as you think it’s safe.  If it helps, think of dairy like the creatures growing in Sigourney Weaver from Alien.

So there you have it; your very own guide to workplace poop etiquette.

Yours facetiously,

LK x

*I should point out that Thursday Bandit, the band, turned out to be less successful than its namesake in terms of a lasting legacy, but it was a bold choice nonetheless.

This post was proudly brought to you by a mystery lady at my work who by all accounts must eat a lot of tinned tuna and cheese; and by the