Look, we’ve seen a lot of workplace terms come and go. “Synergy.” “Agile.” “Growth hacking.” And now everyone’s clutching their pearls over “quiet quitting” like it’s some revolutionary Gen Z invention. Please. These kids discovered setting boundaries and suddenly you think they’re leading a communist revolution. You know what their grandparents invented? Quiet shitting.
That’s right. For every thinkpiece about “acting your wage” and “doing the bare minimum,” there were three generations before the current one who perfected the art of the 45-minute bathroom break. And let me tell you, they didn’t need a TikTok to figure it out.
Your grandfather worked in a factory for 32 years. You think he spent eight hours a day riveting widgets with a smile on his face? Hell no. He spent at least 90 minutes of every shift in that bathroom, and not because of the cafeteria meatloaf. He called it “decompression time.” Management called it “concerning.” His union called it “protected.”
The bathroom break is the original quiet quit. It’s the Switzerland of workplace passive aggression: technically neutral, completely defensible, and occupied by people who just want to be left the hell alone.
The Golden Age of Bathroom Avoidance
Boomers love to talk about their work ethic, but nobody could stretch a bio-break like a 1970s middle manager with a newspaper and a grudge. These weren’t quick pit stops. These were expeditions. Lewis and Clark spent less time exploring the Louisiana Purchase than Clark Griswold’s peers spent in Stall 3 avoiding quarterly reviews.
You’d see someone grab the sports section at 10:15 AM and know you wouldn’t see them again until 11:00. And God help you if you needed something from them. “Oh, Dave? Yeah, he’s in a meeting.” A meeting with his bowels and the crossword puzzle. Also, if you notice a section of the newspaper goes missing and then later reappears, just assume it’s touched the bathroom floor and/or been handled after a wipe.
Gen X took it to new levels. They brought magazines. Then Game Boys. Then the first smartphones. One thing to watch out for… if they bring a change of shoes, they’re probably moving into that stall like its a studio apartment.
The Economics of Excretion
Here’s the math everyone knows but nobody talks about: if you take one 15-minute bathroom break every day beyond your actual biological needs, that’s 65 hours a year. At $25 an hour, you’re paying yourself an extra $1,625 annually to sit on a toilet and scroll through your phone.
Your great-grandfather knew this. He just did it with a racing form instead of Instagram.
The difference is, he felt vaguely guilty about it. He’d come back looking sheepish, maybe mention something about the chili from lunch. There was at least a performance of remorse. Now? Now people are writing Medium posts about “reclaiming your time” and “setting bathroom boundaries.”
The Passive-Aggressive Olympics
You know what the most passive-aggressive move is? The post-meeting bathroom break. Someone says something annoying in the conference room, and suddenly you need to “freshen up” for 20 minutes. It’s the workplace equivalent of leaving someone on read, except you’re getting paid for it.
And the beauty is, it’s completely bulletproof. What’s your boss going to do? Install a timer? Monitor stall occupancy? Stand outside with a stopwatch? HR would have a field day. “Yes, officer, my manager was tracking my bowel movements” is one hell of a lawsuit waiting to happen. Yeah, I know that several companies with trillion dollar market caps basically do do this. Heh. “Do do.”
The Modern Era
Now we’ve got people working from home, and even that hasn’t stopped the tradition. We’ve been on Zoom calls where someone’s camera goes off and you just know they’re not “stepping away briefly.” They’re taking a full constitutional while technically still clocked in. It’s remote quiet shitting, and honestly, I respect the innovation. Just don’t flush off mu… oh no, Bob, your avatar lit up with that flushing sound.
The real quiet quitters aren’t the ones doing the bare minimum at their desks. They’re the ones who’ve calculated exactly how long they can disappear without triggering a wellness check. They’re the ones who know which bathroom on which floor has the best cell service. They’re the institutional knowledge holders of strategic bowel timing.
In Conclusion
So before anyone tells me about how revolutionary it is to only do what you’re paid for, remember: your ancestors were pioneering workplace disengagement one bathroom break at a time, long before you could hashtag it.
They just had the decency to pretend they had diarrhea.