An Open Letter to the Person in the Stall Next to Me: Please Leave so I Can Shit, I Am Terrified

Dear Person in the Stall Next to Me, 

Please leave. 

Don’t get me wrong. You seem super dope with your high-top converse and all, but this isn’t working out. 

I really gotta go — like really bad — and I can’t do my best work with you sittin' next to me. 

You know when you're the starting pitcher in a baseball game, and everyone’s watching, and then you get performance anxiety? Yeah. That’s exactly how you’re making me feel right now. 

I know you probably gotta go too, and that’s totally cool, but please just get the fuck out of the bathroom. I don’t wanna worry about you judging the number of times I flush or about us have an awkward run-in at the sink. Or both. It would probably be both.

Not gonna lie: I had a burrito for lunch, because, let's be honest, we can't all shop at Trader Joes. So, let’s save us both from 12 minutes of sheer discomfort and have you take that tush to the second-floor bathrooms, m'kay? 

Thank you for your understanding. 

Xoxo!