If you read this - you do so with the warning it is gross to an extent.
Since the reunion is over but the page is still alive, and I was asked to keep blogging now and then, I feel any topic or anecdote is open to fair game. With that in mind, I offer this piece of true life obsurdity.
The first thing you must know is our toilet at my work refills very slowly after flushing. Second, you need to know that I time everything to the minute. If I need to be somewhere at 2pm and it takes 10 minutes from work, I will work right up until 1:49, take a minute to run to my car, and if all goes well, arrive ten minutes later at 2 pm. I don't know why I play it so close - but I do. Hence my problem.
Today, with what I thought was time to spare, I went into the restroom. Usually, I have rule about only disposing of liquids while in a public restroom, but my new high fiber diet has me bending rules. So, I do my business and flush the toilet. As I am washing hands, I notice a small "tidbit" has broken away - we'll call him Jerry. Jerry is fighting the current and heading up to the higher water. he breaks free of the porcelain tide and succeeds in staying behind while the remainder flushes away. As he drifts to the bottom of the bowl Jerry seems quite pleased with himself.
I am irritated. Who does this little s**t think he is? Is he better than everyone else? Too good to get flushed down? And now, I have to wait for the tank to refill. I dry my hands. I look at my face. I notice how much more gray is in my hair. Tank not filled. I see what is in my pocket. I check my nose for excess hair. My toe nails need trimming. Tank still filling.
I notice the time. I should be leaving - but this turd is holding me hostage. I can't just leave him for someone else to find. I think he knows he has me in a bind. His sense of smug satisfaction creates a hostility in me I usually only have for slow drivers in the fast lane.
My perfect timing is now off. I am late. Maybe I can make up the time by doing 80 on the freeway. I begin to think, if it is even possible, that I will flush extra hard to cause Jerry some kind of pain equal to the frustration he has caused me. Then I realize I am planning revenge on a turd and I know my time in the bathroom has turned into a dementia.
The tank stops and I flush, holding the handle down completely and not letting go until Jerry is swept away. Even then, I wait to make sure he was not a gold medalist in swimming and won't be beating the odds again. When I am satisfied he is gone, I leave. Late, but with a "I beat you" feeling in my heart and a spring in my step.
Anthony "flushed away" Butler
