How Work Is Basically Just Getting Paid To Poop

Jay Cross
“Far worse looking people have done it. So why can’t I?” Jake is a 22-year-old delicious man candy originally from New York and currently living in Miami Beach attending law school. He graduated from the University of Florida in 2014 and used his degree to invest in a Toyota Prius. More information about his Prius can be found on his Instagram handle: “hotguyinaprius”. He drives an Uber part time because lawyers only get paid in movies. Jake doesn’t drink often, but when he does, he prefers it be consecutively for a potentially infinite duration. Jake often drinks.

Ahh, the American dream.

This idea has indubitably changed over time, indubitably. Originating with the vision of our Founding Fathers, this idea of achieving a fruitful life indubitably comes in many shapes and sizes.

Indubitably, the American dream is subjective, where the paths taken and resulting achievements are based on one’s resources, perceptions, obligations and, in some cases, a challenging language barrier.

Take a young aspiring rapper, who through hard work, one or two good decisions and a “this will mean something to someone” approach to his lyrics, managed to achieve hip-hop stardom.

That’s right, Gucci Mane. The same guy who has a song called “I move chickens,” where he asserts, with passion and confidence: “I move chickens, I move chickens shorty. I move chickens, I move chickens shorty. I move chickens, I move chickens.” Or just as #blessed, in his song “Heavy” where his command of the track is so eloquent it’s as if he is just having a conversation with the listener: “Heavy. Real heavy. It feels heavy. Somebody help me. My neck hurt.”

Unlike your typical wet dream, the American dream can commence at any time. It has no beginning, no end and doesn’t necessarily have to involve a threesome with Eliza Dushku, the robot from Ex Machina and Lindsay Lohan’s twin sister (who apparently nobody cares about) in the outfield at Fenway Park. You might be thinking “Hey that’s already three people, where you at, Jay?” Good observation and thanks for your question. I’m actually at home plate performing “Virtual Insanity” with Jamiroquai. I know, lol, it’s cool.

Anyways, what if I were to tell you that the American dream does not have to be some enduring, Spielberg-esque drama, encompassing a full spectrum of emotions that ends with you watching literally your best friend flying through the air on a bicycle to avoid a very much legal police arrest?

As you arrive at your desk on Monday, sifting through emails, noticing that far too many subject lines read “URGENT,” you think to yourself, “Oh it’s so urgent, yet it’s via email. Would you email your doctor if you were on fire? You can wait, Alan, President of Company. Jackass.”

Much like any other day, you’ll spend your time at your desk looking at clients IT systems, making sure they have controls in place to maintain a reasonable level of protection against internal and external threats. When broken down, it really just means “I move chickens, I move chickens shorty. I move chickens, I move chickens shorty. I move chickens, I move chickens.”

You finish off your coffee and you head to the bathroom. You layer the toilet seat with roughly five pounds of toilet paper and sit on your well-cushioned expurgatory palace. As the vulnerability and confusion briefly associated with all office poops begins to penetrate your senses, you think to yourself: “Am I important? If I just got up and left today and never came back, would anything be different in the world?” But then suddenly it hits you and you realize, just as you slowly pull your knees to your ears as many seasoned poopers do in order to send that last cigar back to Cuba, that you’re getting paid for this.

That entire moment of privacy, of emotional freedom, of physical rejuvenation and spiritual reincarnation, you were getting paid. You don’t remember seeing, “candidate must be able to communicate effectively on the toilet” in the LinkedIn job description, but you gladly accept the additional task.

Unfortunately, most of us have poop anxiety, which began way back in middle school when we’d either hold in our poops or go home mid-day to lay down the spicy brown. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. But one day I’d had enough, I couldn’t champ it out. I raised my hand and, while grinding my teeth, asked the teacher mid-exam if I could respectfully go poop and she responded, “Jay, it’d be weird if you didn’t.” It forever changed my life.

I know you’re scared. You’re thinking, “What if I get yelled at for pooping too much? What if everyone starts calling me the leaky cauldron?” I say, “So what?” So what if people are jealous that you’re happy. Don’t walk around holding it in all day looking like a cute idiot.

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No more taking the elevator to a quiet floor. No more laying toilet paper down in the bowl so it doesn’t make a sound, no more fake coughs. Take your phone out, play some music. Nobody will ever ask you if you can turn down that NSYNC song, “Digital Get Down,” echoing throughout your sanctuary. Be yourself, enjoy yourself, stand up for yourself and save yourself some money on water, toilet paper and hand soap by absolutely going to town in the office bathroom.

Here’s a detailed analysis of the potential range of savings from pooping at work.

I encourage you to take an active role in calculating just how much you could be getting paid to poop if you just listen to your body and cooperate. This fun poop calculator tool is what America is all about. It’s okay to to toss your chair aside during a meeting and let your boss know you gon’ let him finish but you bout to take the best poop of all time.

Be the leader your office so desperately needs. Show everyone that a comfortable worker is an efficient worker. Sit comfortably on the toilet and say to yourself “And I’m Gordon Bombay, Minneapolis, Minnesota” and let it rip.

Live the dream, my friends.

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