The Phantom Shitter

This is one of our Neds story’s, I claim no credit for it.

Before he came to work at our business he was a time served carpenter, a joiner, a woodworker and eventually he left the building sites and found work in a joinery factory in Bramley, an old factory built in the days when the workers entered their place of work seperate from management, a place where the workers toilets were just inside the workers entrance, the workers entrance being right on the main street next to a bus stop.

Each morning an old blokee called Bill would arrive at the factory first, half an hour before everyone else simply because thats what time his bus got him there, he’d unlock the workers entrance, switch all the lights on then go and sit at his lathe and wait for the “official” start time whilst reading his newspaper.

And each morning, before anyone else arrived he’d hear a toilet flush in the workers toilet block even though he knew that there was no-one else in the building.

He called it the phantom shitter.

It happened every morning for months, no-one ever came into the factory but the toilet would flush at around the same time every day and by the time old Bill had put down his newspaper and wobbled over to the toilet block there was no trace of anyone there except for the toilet cistern slowly filling back up again, the phantom shitter had struck again.

He told his workmates of the phantom shitter, they thought he was joking, they thought he was halucinating with the early starts, they questioned him as to why he always arrived before everyone else, they assumed he was barmy.

He insisted that the factory had a phantom shitter.

And then one day he caught him, the phantom shitter.

After several months old Bill’s courage got the better of him and he hid in one of the toilet cubicles early one morning, as Bill sat there he heard a bus pull up outside, it was the bus after the one that he would normally get, the bus left.

And then he heard footsteps enter the building.

The footsteps entered the toilet block.

The footsteps turned left and entered the cubicle next to his.

There was the sound of a zip and pants being dropped and then a long rasping fart followed by a sigh of relief and the unmistakable sploosh, sploosh, sploosh of a bowel evacuation.

Old Bill sneaked out of his toilet cubicle and stood by the toilet door, waiting.

A few minutes later the toilet flushed its familiar phantom shitter flush and a middle aged man in workers overalls exited the cubicle to suddenly stop short at the sight of Old Bill blocking the doorway…

“AH-HAAA !!!” shouted Old Bill, “You bastard you, you’re the phantom shitter”

The man confessed all, he worked a half mile away and the bus stop outside was the closest he could get to his factory, faced with a half mile walk every morning he had got into the habit of popping into their factory for a crap most mornings as he’d never make it to his own place of work, a simple enough explanation of pure bravado and nerve and the weakness of a man who needs a damn good shit of a morning before he can face his work.

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