Dear Coworkers: please don't talk to me in the john
I understand that the nature of our job (trading stocks, which begins effectively at 8:30am central time) causes us as a group of individuals to feel the need to deposit our morning bodily waste at approximately the same time as each other, every single day, so as to be unencumbered during the course of normal business hours. Further, I understand that a men's room with only 4 toilet stalls is a woefully inadequate proposition to satisfy the needs of 150 male individuals who all must deposit said waste during the span of a brief half hour every day before the market opens. Finally, I understand that the inadequacy of our men's room to service everybody's bodily needs simultaneously causes the unfortunate formation of long lines in the restroom foyer, alongside the sinks, between the entryway and the stalls.
HOWEVER, I do not understand your need to consistently force conversation upon me prior to, during, or immediately following the act of dropping the cosby kids off at the pool. Please refrain, in the future, from engaging in any act of this nature, limited, but not exclusive to, the following examples:
Me, in line for the next available stall
Coworker #1 (in line behind me): "Oh man, this one's gonna be a doosie. I had some corn for dinner last night"
... this is completely unnecessary. Not only don't I want to talk to you while I'm quietly biding my time to deposit my unholiest of unholies, I certainly don't need to hear that when you sit down in the stall next to me, the squishy, ploppy sound which is inevitably coming from you, will be the result of chunky partially digested corn coming out of your anus.
Me, on the pooper, (relatively) quietly minding my own business and reading the sports page.
Coworker #2: "Hey Jake, is that you over there?"
Me: "um, no"
Coworker #2: "Oh, sorry. It sounded like Jake"
... first of all, what? How do you know what Jake sounds like on the john? Second, why do you care if your buddy Jake is the one sitting next to you while you're in there? pick up a goddamn newspaper and keep to yourself
Me, exiting a stall, having finished my business, on my way to wash my hands.
Coworker #3 (next in line): "Thanks man"
... um, sure? You're welcome? Be sure to enjoy the uncomfortable warmth that my bare ass left on the toilet seat which will invariably remain until you sit down and realize you wish you were in a nice, isolated bathroom stall, in which you wouldn't have to think about the bare ass of the last person who happened to have shat there.
My point is this: I enjoy the relative anonymity that a public restroom stall should provide to one while he or she is doing his or her business. I find it difficult to believe that we, as humans, feel the need to experience situations such as this communally, and as such, I have only request:
Please don't talk to me in the john and leave me the fuck alone!