You would think everything at Glamour would smell like Windex and potpourri, if the engagement chicken cookbook and glossy white freshness of its magazine layout were anything to go by. However, shit allegedly stinks there — more than one kind of shit — according to an anonymous tipster who wrote to Gawker:
For years, the ladies' room of the 16th floor of Glamour has had a mystery shitter who has left enormous packages in various toilets and appeared to purposefully not flush. Despite signs ranging from laminated "please remember to flush" posters and haikus of middling wit being taped inside each stall, the mystery shitter continues to shit, a silent, odiferous protest against a work environment that regularly keeps staffers there past midnight-3 a.m. nights are not unheard of.
The letter devolves into a rant about how a lot of employees — including the entire production department, staffers from the beauty and photo departments, and the two managing editors — have left, or have announced their plans to leave, the magazine recently. When Glamour folks get new jobs they do "happy dances" openly in the office, this person adds. "Only the defecation, it seems, takes place behind closed doors," the tipster continues, before going on to wonder, with Glamour's newsstand sales down 17 percent, "how long will it be before Condé questions the edit-side wisdom of its biggest cash cow?" Basically, the whole rant seemed like: (1) a way to vent about a job she's sick of; and (2) a writing exercise attempting to produce eloquent, witty prose using the shit in the bathroom as a metaphor for the shit in the office. Writing is not much different than life: When mixing two kinds of shit, the result will stink.
Glamour Haunted by ‘Mystery Shitter’ [Gawker]