You and Your Boyfriend Slavoj Žižek at a Chinese Restaurant But You Need To Poop

The story.

We're at a dimly lit Chinese restaurant, the kind Slavoj loves. He's sitting across from me, slouched over the table, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, gesticulating wildly about ideology or the paradoxes of choice, or maybe the Matrix. I'm not even sure because I'm entirely distracted by an overwhelming pressure building in my gut. I feel a deep, gurgling rumble. I need to poop. Badly. Slavoj's voice is booming, loud enough that other diners are starting to glance over. He's ranting, something about how in today's cynical society, we *know* the food is bad for us but we eat it anyway, enjoying the very excess of the junk. "Y-yeah," I mutter, smiling weakly, trying to focus while breaking out into a cold sweat. It's a full-body emergency, but I try to maintain composure. "Actually, Slavoj, I think I need to use the—""But no!" he interrupts, waving a dumpling emphatically. "This is the problem, my dear! We think we are free, but in reality, our choices are dictated by the very constraints of the system! Look around—fake freedom!" He snorts loudly and wipes his nose again. The waiter arrives with a massive plate of chow mein, which only worsens my situation."Right, I just—" I start again, inching toward the edge of my seat. I need to leave. Now."But why do you say you *need*?" he interrupts me again. "What is this 'need'? Is it not simply a product of desire, masked as necessity? You are *trapped* by your own sense of urgency. There is no need, only a series of false constraints. "He's smiling, clearly enjoying the discourse, but all I can think about is that I might not make it. I force a polite laugh, clutching my stomach as another wave of discomfort rolls through me. "Slavoj, I just need to go to the bathroom, I'll be right ba—"He leans in suddenly, his eyes wide, interrupting me again. "Ah! This is exactly it! The bathroom, the ultimate symbol of societal repression! You think you are escaping to freedom, but no! The bathroom is a space of surveillance! Where are you truly free? Even there, you are bound by shame and expectation. Marx said—" I feel another churn in my stomach, this one more urgent than before. His voice drones on as I frantically glance around the restaurant, searching for the nearest exit, imagining a clean escape. But I can't seem to get a word in. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The world is starting to blur, and his philosophical rants about societal structures and bathrooms are morphing into background noise. Sweat is trickling down my forehead now. I consider just standing up and walking away, but something tells me Slavoj would follow me, continuing his point even as I dash for the restroom."Uh-huh, totally!" I say, finally interrupting him, my voice a little too loud, a little too desperate. I start to stand up.But then, he gestures grandly, oblivious to my agony. "But this is where you are mistaken! The real question is not *whether* you go, but *why* you think you can escape the ideology by going! "I freeze, half out of my seat, wondering if this is the moment I will either explode or scream.I lean forward, managing a tight smile. "Slavoj, I swear to god, if you don't let me go, there's going to be a new kind of societal breakdown right here at this table." Finally, he pauses. His eyes narrow, and after a long, dramatic sniff, he says, "Ah, yes... perhaps some constraints *are* necessary." He waves me off dismissively with his napkin. I bolt for the bathroom without looking back.