Why mix business with pleasure?

I stood peacefully at the urinal, in what seemed at the time, a perfectly empty bathroom. There’s something incredibly calming about the rare circumstance of a completely uninhabited office bathroom.  Though it smelled only recently vacated, at least I wouldn’t have to engage in a cripplingly awkward urinal conversation or listen to the sound of someone making in one of the adjacent stalls.

As I indulged in the amicable sound of my steady stream pulverizing the urinal cake, I heard something from the far end of the bathroom. The distinct very sound of someone, or something, ripping toilet paper. Then the hesitant flushing of a toilet. Had someone been there the whole time? Did they poop with their legs elevated so no one could tag them by the shoes they were wearing? I had considered this, but lacked both the flexibility and concern that someone would see me pooping. Were they even pooping? My mind was spinning and I was becoming visibly agitated.

My once undisturbed sanctuary had been invaded by some heathen. The most confusing part was they appeared to be making a bee line for the urinal next to me. What the hell was going on in that stall? I racked my brain. I had to get the hell out of there, but I had four cups of coffee that morning. I made a valiant push but was unsuccessful. How was this piss taking this long? I need to get my prostate checked.

As the person approached the urinal we locked up in a reflective, deeply uncomfortable stare. I tried to think of something to diffuse the situation as the bathroom walls seemed to be crumbling around me. I glanced back at the stall he had just exited from and then back at him and painfully muttered “Why mix business with pleasure am I right?” Holy shit, what did that even mean? Was that a John Travolta acting like Nicolas Cage line from Face off?  I had never said that before and it likely wasn’t applicable in this situation, or any situation for that matter. A deafening silence ensued that carried all the way through the washing of hands and exiting of the bathroom. I never talked to that person again.

What the hell were they doing in that stall?