I'm not proud of this.
Years and years ago, I started my first job in an office housed in a very old, listed building. The plumbing was terrible. My (shared) office was in the attic and there was a small, unisex WC, shared by the entire floor.
During my first week, I developed terrible stomach cramps and knew I had to poo urgently. Not wanting to risk creating a smell that could be linked to me, I ran downstairs to find that toilet out of order. The one on the ground floor was near reception so couldn't risk getting caught walking out by visiting clients. So I went back to the attic, accepting my fate.
I sat and crimped one out. It was horrific. I made a poo that resembled King Kong's finger and smelled like one of his farts. I decided to make a quick get-away so nobody would see me leave.
I pressed the flusher handle. Nothing.
Pressed again. Small amount of water but nowhere near enough to shift this brown behemoth.
Third time, not even a gurgle of water.
At this stage, I was starting to sweat. I grabbed the wicker bathroom bin and fruitlessly tried to fill it with enough water to pour into the toilet. All that achieved was to drench my clothes.
By now, I was in a flap. I couldn't risk walking out and leaving it there as, at this stage, I'd been gone for over 20 minutes and it would be obvious it was me.
I looked around and, like McGyver, grabbed the only thing within arm's reach- a well-chewed plastic pen that someone had abandoned on the window ledge. Using the pen as a crude chopstick, I managed to spear the shit, and lifted it up out of the pan. I swear, it wriggled and put up a struggle.
At this stage, I didn't know what to do. Sweat was pouring down my brow, and I was standing there in my now wet suit with Moby Shit firmly stuck to a biro. I opened the window, stood on the bowl of the toilet and looked out, thinking I could lob the jobbie out. After a quick look, I realised that, below the window, was the heavily-used staff smoking area with a few colleagues standing around. There was no way I could fling my filth.
At this stage, a few people had tried to toilet door and moved away, seeing it was occupied. The pressure was mounting. Surely someone would realise I'd now been away from my desk for over half an hour and then link that to the locked bathroom?
In desperation, I looked around and there, like a beacon, was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen; a sanitary bin. Like a basketball player, I graceful opened the lid, arched the poo in and shut the bin as fast as I could.
Relieved, I slipped out of the toilet, heading back to my desk loudly complaining about a visiting client overstaying their welcome.
6 weeks later, an e-mail came around from the Office Manager. Addressed to all the ladies in the office, it explained that, as someone had taken to shitting in the sanitary bins, the bathroom supplies company had refused to service our office any longer. There would be no more sanitary bins.
Everyone was disgusted. At first, there were murmurs of "but..but...but we need sanitary bins!". Then it changed to "hang on, someone shat in a pad bin?".
I even heard one colleague ask "but how would someone be able to aim their arse into the little bin flap?!"