Ladies Shitting.

George: Well, after dinner last week, she invites me back to her apartment.
Jerry: I'm with you.
George: Well, it's this little place with this little bathroom. It's like right there, you know, it's not even down a little hall or off in an alcove. You understand? There's no... buffer zone. So, we start to fool around, and it's the first time, and it's early in the going. And I begin to perceive this impending... intestinal requirement, whose needs are going to surpass by great lengths anything in the sexual realm. So I know I'm gonna have to stop. And as this is happening I'm thinking, even if I can somehow manage to momentarily...extricate myself from the proceedings and relieve this unstoppable force, I know that that bathroom is not gonna provide me with the privacy that I know I'm going to need...
Jerry: This could only happen to you.
George: So I finally stop and say, "Tatiana, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I think it would be best if I left".
Jerry: You said this to her after.
George: No. During.
Jerry: Oh, boy.

As someone not comfortable in audibly performing in the bathroom when others are around, I sympathize with these ladies:

Kyle McIntyre, a 25-year-old working at a website in Los Angeles, obsesses over the perfect timing of the flush to cover the sound. She said that if it’s not just right, “the entire mission is shot to hell and your only option is to crawl through a bathroom vent to avoid revealing your identity.” 

One thing I miss about Capital One is the millons of bathrooms, which made for anonymity wherein I could unleash the hounds of hell with wild abandon. In  my current office, there's maybe 7 of us, and we're all about 10 feet away from the shitter. So there's a good chance of me dying from septic shock after holding it for 8 hours.

As for my last job while in NYC, of  course there's nothing that goes on in the corporate shitter that I ever agree with.