Having to drop a deuce in a public restroom is a horror in itself, so imagine sitting on an icy seat trying to escape a deformed Stoorish Hobbit that lurks in your workplace, scrolling through webcomics on the socials, and then the silence is shattered by the slam of the neighboring stall door.
And your peaceful private moment is interrupted by Turdzilla.
The old shop I used to work in had this guy who would always choose the stall next to you. All the stalls could be empty, and instead of any of those seven empty stalls, he would always park in the shit bucket next to you.
And, Jesus Christ, it was always a production.
Nice guy, but goddamn, him always forcefully sharing those moments was a bit much.