For years, I thought you were the one who was leaving the office toilet smeared with your morning poo. On those mornings, sitting at my desk, as the stench of shit wafted through the office, I lamented your existence and questioned to myself why you didn't turn on the FUCKING FAN?
Anytime we'd interact, in the back of my mind was my disdain for your face, and the image of you on the toilet turning beet red as you forced out whatever grease-ladened fast food meal you had the day before.
Then, your dad died and you were off work for two weeks. To my astonishment, the fecal smears continued. The air rich with the scent of a recent bowel movement continued to invade my space, forcing me to leave the office in dire need of fresh air. I was shocked and confused.
All these years I thought you were the disgusting human being forcing your waste activities onto the world, like some sort of sick dog marking its territory... but I was wrong. Now a new investigation will begin to find this crapping culprit. I will keep a sharp eye on the bathroom door and begin to put the pieces together. I will find this fecal bandit.
The sad thing is, I can never apologize to you. There's no way to ever say I'm sorry for believing you were this deranged poo pig.
The search begins...