Banheiro

 Great choice! Here's a refined comedic short story version of your original idea. I've kept the absurd humor, awkwardness, and chaos — just cleaned up the grammar, pacing, and descriptions to make it funnier and easier to read.

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“Cid and the Doorless Doom”

Cid was just an ordinary guy walking down the street, enjoying the sunshine and minding his own business, when it struck — a sudden, sharp pain in his stomach.

“Ugh,” he groaned, clutching his gut. “I have to shit. Now.”

Panic set in. He scanned the street like a man on the run, searching for salvation. That’s when he saw it: a public restroom.

He dashed inside, heart pounding, intestines bubbling — and immediately froze.

The place looked like a prison bathroom designed by a confused architect. One massive urinal stretched along the left wall like a metallic river. On the right were three toilets… but something was off.

Each toilet was set between tall, thick walls that extended far back, like miniature hallways — but there were no doors. It looked less like a row of stalls and more like an open-air maze for the desperately ashamed.

Cid, unfortunately, was shy. Painfully shy. The idea of pooping in public was his worst nightmare.

But today, he had no choice. And, by some miracle, the bathroom was empty.

He picked the furthest stall, dropped his pants, and sat down. Relief hit him instantly.

“Prrrrt... blop… blop…”

The sounds echoed off the cold tile like a jazz solo gone wrong.

Just as he began to feel some peace, the janitor walked in.

Cid tensed up.

The man grabbed his squeegee and began cleaning without even glancing in Cid’s direction. The corridor-like stall didn’t hide much — but the janitor just wiped the floor, whistling, as if nothing was happening.

Cid’s stomach betrayed him again. “Prrrrt!” Another fart slipped out.

The janitor didn’t flinch. He just kept cleaning.

“What the hell am I going through?” Cid thought, mortified.

Eventually, the janitor left, and Cid thought the nightmare was over.

It wasn’t.

An elderly man rolled in — not walked, rolled — in a buzzing electric wheelchair. He cruised slowly past Cid’s stall, just a few feet from his exposed, squatting form.

Cid tried to hold it in, but it was no use. “Blaaaarp!” came the fart — followed by an audible splash of liquid disaster.

The old man stopped, turned his head slightly… and laughed.

Cid was dying of shame.

“He’s gonna pay for this.”

He finished up, wiped, and pulled up his pants. But as he stepped out of his stall, he heard unmistakable noises — the old man had taken the middle stall… and was now going through his own digestive drama.

Cid seized the opportunity.

He walked right in front of the old man’s stall and began laughing. Loudly.

“Hahaha! Who’s laughing now, huh? You big shitter!”

The old man snapped. “Get outta here, you lunatic!”

But Cid kept laughing like a cartoon villain.

The old man wiped himself with mechanical efficiency, then flung a wad of used toilet paper at Cid like a soggy ninja star.

Cid dodged it and ran out of the bathroom, howling with laughter.

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The End.

Moral of the story: Always check for stall doors… and never underestimate an old man in a wheelchair.

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Want a part two? Maybe Cid gets revenge — or ends up in an even worse restroom?