Gilligan

Gilligan

Well that does it. I give up. They're going to ride me out of this building on a rail.

I went into the restroom a few minutes ago (I know, 'what's new'). And of the two sitter stalls, the first one was occupied, so I took curtain number two (hahah). No paper to read this time, but there was plenty of unflushed paper festering in the bowl. So I did a pre-flush. No good. Some went down, but not most. Now, I'm used to the plumbing in the previous building I occupied, so I assumed a second pre-flush would do the trick, with no ill effects. Oh how wrong I was. Up the water went...up...up...up, and I was thinking 'oh crap oh crap oh crap...' For a moment, it started to abate. But before relief could sweep across me, a final surge of pressure sent it lifting over the rim, and splashing to the angry tiles below.

Semi-fortunately, the guy next to me was finishing his business, and it sounded like he had started to quicken his pace as he apparently heard the growing volume of my muttered oaths. At the final critical moment, he hopped up in the air and crashed into the far wall of his stall--but he didn't say a word. Unlike me. I think I could be blackmailed with a tape recording of what I said in those few moments.

Well there was nothing to do at that point, but burn tire out of the restroom and find a means of containment. Fortunately the housekeeping closet was unlocked, so I threw together a mop and a bucket and raced back down the hall, past a number of grimacing bystanders who just naturally happened to be out and about to see me clattering to the men's room like a hooting chimp with tools. By the time I re-entered the scene of the crime, my anonymous stall neighbor was at the sink washing his hands. Oh man did he look ticked. He didn't say a word, but that was one angry dude. I have no idea who he is, but I know my face is now permanently tattooed on his brain.

I clackity-clacked the mop and bucket into the stall and started swiping away. The bowl had finally unclogged by some mercy, but 30 square feet of floor were soaked. Bleah. It wasn't soupy water thank goodness, but grodiness nonetheless. The whole time, people were coming in and using the urinals. So I did my best to conceal myself from their view until the room was empty, at which point I stood the mop and bucket in a corner, washed my hands and squeak squeak squeaked down the hall and away from my atrocities.

I'm afraid to see this guy again. I'm seriously considering bringing a twenty dollar bill in tomorrow, hunting him down and offering to pay for dry cleaning. Oh man, I hope he wasn't wearing expensive shoes.

I really shouldn't wait for these sort of things to happen before writing an entry here. It makes it seem like this is the only stuff that ever happens to me...which even though it feels that way, it can't really be true...can it?