The Considerate Shitter

I work in a four-story office building.

Three companies fill up the entire first floor.

Two companies--including mine--occupy half of the second floor.

One company takes up the third floor.

And the fourth floor is empty. Completely. Been so for over a year now. During that time, a silent society has coalesced on that floor.

I'm a member. There are others. But I have no idea who any of them are. One of my co-workers might be one. I've never mentioned this society to him, though. Nor has he to me. In fact, I've never actually come face to face with any of the other members. I know them only by the evidence they leave behind.

This society, you see, is made up of men who work in the building and choose to trudge up to the top floor of our building in order to, ahem, "do their business."

We're a considerate bunch. We all need to make our drop-offs. And we choose to do so on the floor where no one else will unwittingly encounter the smells, sounds or *gasp* sights some of us leave in our wake.

It is a necessary thing that we do. We are not proud of it. Which is probably why we do not acknowledge each other. Occasionally, I will sit down to make a 3 o'clock delivery and hear someone zipping up and flushing in the stall next to me. Never does the other member of the Society of Considerate Shitters speak. Nor do I. I do hear the other member wash his hands and exit. After the coast is clear, I do the same. Only to return the next day when duty calls.

Regrettably, this society is not comprised of every man who works in my building. There are those less considerate souls who utilize the bathrooms on the floors where they work. We all know who they are.

And none of us considerate shitters want to be ranked among them.