“That’s racist!” he snapped. I stared blankly. We were both white.
“No…” I replied slowly. “It’s—it’s actually not.”
The man simply stood there looking angry for some reason, so I tried to justify myself. “I mean… we’re the same race… I’m not discriminating against you… also constipation has nothing to do with race...”
“Don’t get technical with me! You know what you said is wrong! Did you think I WANT to be called ‘constipated?’ Would YOU want someone to assume you’re constipated just because you didn’t need to flush the toilet?”
My mind couldn’t avoid tripping over the holes in his argument. “…Are you constipated?” I asked after a moment had passed.
“I’m excretorally challenged!” the man yelled a little too loudly for my comfort. I turned around to the sound of footsteps behind me. A man in a brown business coat and holding a briefcase had strolled in, but when he saw the two of us arguing and heard the other man’s latest statement, he backed away, smiling with palms in front of him in apology as if he had disturbed an important conversation. My gaze went back to the potential idiot in the process of chastising me.
“I see,” I said. Nothing else came out, and ten seconds of awkward silence passed before I had found something else to say.
“You know,” I began, “there are doctors who can fix your constip—I mean, any challenges you may have in the excretory system. I could actually give you the address of one who I know could—”
“Nobody can fix me or my excretorally challenged system. You know why?” he inquired.
I was actually going to point out that “excretorally” isn’t a word, except the man didn’t let me finish.