How To: POOP

CANTA Issue #1, 2017

There’s no denying that the Undercroft toilets are silent. This silence reaches peak morgue capacity. You can hear your hair and nails growing.

This poses the question; how can I pinch off a loaf when I am presented with CIA grad torture. What is there at my disposal, when I am at my most vulnerable; a human organic fax machine, spitting out lolly cake without the lollies?

CANTA has a few solutions. Consider these simple steps bandaids for your social anxiety. It’s a clear nail polish to gloss
over the fact that EVERYBODY POOPS BUT NO ONE LIKES TO BE REMINDED OF IT.

So here we go: the unofficial guide to Pooping Like No-One Is Listening.

Step one. Pooping on a schedule like a guide dog.
Plan your emissions. Survey toilet traffic. Avoid post-meal times. Think of your own body and it’s sluggish cogs… we all know you don’t eat enough fibre. You’re a student! You eat refined white things! Chances are most people around you are in the same boat. High traffic times are estimated at 1 hour post meal time.

You’ve also got supplies to mop up any type of issue. Wet wipes, hand sanitiser, rosary beads, some tissues. I’d tell you to relax, but you’re reading an article on how to poop.

Step two: choose your weapon.
Your weapon = toilet stall. Surveys have indicated that the first stall you see as you walk in is the least used stall and therefore the least germ ridden, but fuck that. You need the furtherest stall from the door. I didn’t say you’d be clean, I said you’d be privately pooing.

Step three: I see poop people.
If your chosen stall is taken, be strategic. You know you both don’t want to be in there together. Calculate the exact distance your presence won’t be detected by your Bowel Buddy in that coveted stall. They know you’re there. Don’t kid yourself. Keep away and don’t be weird.

You’ll silently do a toilet waltz with each other and take cues, such as rustling toilet paper. Coughing. A fake sniff. Just close your eyes and use your intiution. Use the force. Speaking of….

Step three: Push it. Push it real good.
There’s no time for smartphones. Hang up your bag, and get to work. Lay a moderate amount of toilet paper down. It will be whatever your sweaty anxious hands can grasp. This layer avoids the ploink TM* – people KNOW the ploink, and they will IDENTIFY the ploink as a CODE BROWN.

Step four: be at one with your surroundings.
Know this: the paper dispensers are out to get you. Accept this, as it’s never going to change. The Undercroft toilets have notoriously thin TP and you will not have any success in gaining anything larger than a sim card for cleaning up your balloon knot. But you thought of this, didn’t you?! See STEP ONE. Organisation. Being at one with your surroundings means listening for additions to your audience. You could end up in here for hours. Did you bring a book?

Step five: Bravery in the face of poop-ocalypse.
You’re done. Poo-Elvis has left the butt-building. So far? No noise. Don’t cry at this point. Try not to have a victorious poo cackle. Bowel Buddy has hopefully moved on, and it’s your chance to be brave and show your filthy, disgusting face. Flush, pause, wait. GO.

Step six: rinse your shame.
I don’t need to tell you what you’re doing here. More than 30 seconds on the wash AND the same for drying. You have a minute, so use it wisely. Keep your head down. You no longer own this space. Anyone can come in at any point, so avoid eyes. Avoid life basically.

Step seven: follow through (no, not that kind). Leave with confidence and pace. People who left a cable the size of a doughy baguette do not follow this prescription. They skulk. Avoid the skulk. You are a sanitised, waste free member of UC. Walk fast, on the way anywhere but a loo.
Eye contact can resume approx 25 minutes post incidence or 3.5km from said toilet.

Issue Two: The Greasy Wok 4