The following thoughts have flickered through my mind in rapid succession at least once a week for as long as I have worked on the fourth floor of Gawker Media's offices.

• Oh no, the only open bathroom is the one by Deadspin's table. That's "the shitting bathroom."
• I'll just wait for another bathroom to open up.
• [jiggling leg, jiggling leg, jiggling leg]
• Okay, I really can't hold it any longer.
• Aaaughhuighihhh, it's like a diarrhea bomb went off in here. Hold your breath. Hold your breath.
• Even if I lit a match, it wouldn't eliminate this stink. The whole room would just ignite into a gaseous ball of fire, like napalm.
• That copy of Maxim looks suspiciously dog-eared.
• Hey there's a tic-tac-toe board on the ceiling. What's in the squares, though?
• Oh my god, those are boogers. They are playing booger tic-tac-toe.
• I have to get out of this bathroom. Right now.
• Why are there pubes in the sink?
• Is someone in this office homeless?
• That can of Febreze looks exhausted.
• [bursts out of door, gasping]
• Oh no, someone is waiting to use this bathroom. How can I communicate that the horrible stench he is about to encounter is not my fault, when I have only a split second of nonverbal communication available to get my message across? Wait— no— don't go in—
• Too late. He went in.
• Whatever, he's probably flicking his boogers at the ceiling while simultaneously masturbating and pooping, anyway.
• Boys are gross.

Previously: The Poop Prisoner's Dilemma: What Do You Do With an Unflushed Toilet?

Sand through the hour glass, pee through the toilet bowl, these are the bathroom dilemmas of our lives.