All in all, it hasn’t been a good week. Bad traffic, being late for work, mounds of homework and tests, a malfunctioning computer, and incompetent coworkers all made me a bubbling cauldron of hate. But more importantly for this story, the work bathroom has smelled like it had been over forty-eight hours since whoever used it last had last taken a dump and expelled whatever had died up there. It was asstastic.

Now…let me tell you the story of how I became blind in my right eye.

It hit me. My colon informed me with a sudden cramp that I needed to visit the little boy’s room. I gaily made my way into the back when I noticed that the bathroom was occupied. No big deal, I wasn’t in dire need of the restroom. No sudden wet, squeaky farts telling me that everything needed to go. So I waited…and waited…and waited. In fact, I waited so long, that I damn near forgot that I need to go until my bowels let me know on no uncertain terms that I needed to get in there. I made my way back there again, this time a little more hastily than before, and was thrilled to see that bathroom was open. As I entered the bathroom, I was met by a horrible, unearthly stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul mist quickly made its way through my nasal passage and began choking me. How could this be? Who would do such a thing? Maybe I’m the only one that believes you should have the utmost standards in bathroom etiquette at work. Sometimes, you should just take that *shit* home and wreck your own bathroom.

I was stuck. There was no stopping me. I couldn’t just slam my sphincter shut for the rest of the day and call it good. I had to go. As I trekked deeper into the bathroom, I surveyed the damage that was left. It looked as though something had actually recoiled out of the toilet bowl and ran down the side to the floor. Tears involuntarily began to run down my face from the burn. As I continued to survey the disaster, I noticed that the toilet paper dispenser was dreadfully low. The user before me used a considerable amount of paperwork for his supernatural elimination. Was it too low? Will there be enough? I had to take my chances. The subtle rumble of my insides were telling me, “Any longer, and we will be having a clearance sale. Everything Must Go!”

I proceeded with my business. My eyes were burning and the tears were rapidly flowing down my face. Sounds of suppressed gagging and retching filled the bathroom. I could not take much more of this. I had to escape, and soon. I gripped the toilet paper dispenser with one hand and braced myself against the side of the wall with my other hand and pushed with everything I had. I was finally rewarded with comfort and knew that I was almost out of there. I used up what was left of the toilet paper and whoever said “less is more” was not kidding. I should receive a medal for being able to do a full clean up with only having half the materials to do it with.

I quickly washed my hands and noticed that the mirror was being faded out by the haze left over from the previous occupant. I was failing to realize that the burn from the mist was doing more damage to me than just causing me to cough and gag. I ran out of there and as I exited the bathroom, I realized that the blur caused by the mist was not clearing up. Could it be? Did that green haze damage me for life? As I continued on, I ran into another co-worker, literally, since I could no longer see out of my right eye. With fear etched into my face, all I could say to her was…“Gotta go… horrible… throw up…in my mouth… not… make it… tell my family… love them… oh God…”

And this, my friends, is how I lost vision in my right eye; my good eye.