I knew it was Monday because I was almost run off the road by a crazy guy with road rage, flashing his lights at me. Personally, I don’t think his repeated saluting with his middle finger was justified; I was going five miles over the speed limit. (Literally, it was like saluting. He did it three times, paused, and another two times. Or he’s one of those rave kids and was practicing his moves for the discotheque.)
I still enjoyed my usual large cup of coffee and bottle of water on my commute. After my first class, I was aching for a potty. I located the nearest ladies room and chose my stall. After finishing my business, I reached for the toilet paper roll. It was on my right side and was attached via a lock hinge. You know the kind, the ones you have to fight with when you’re trying to steal paper from cheap fast food restaurants before T.P.-ing your nemesis’s house. Well, it wasn’t latched. And I guess I’ve been working out too much with the indomitable because when I reached for it, it shot across the bathroom floor, rolled over my stall neighbor’s feet, and hit the wall that was ten feet away. Not only did it fly with amazing speed, it managed to stay intact. I was left with about ten squares in my hand and a train that provided tissue for over half the bathroom, right at their feet.
I chuckled for a few minutes afterward. Then I heard my neighbor flush and begin washing her hands. I waited a few seconds for her to finish and leave, but she was a good little washer and was scrubbing, hard. So I convinced myself that it was okay and that I wasn’t embarrassed (even though I really was). I wrap up my visit, pull up my pants, flush the toilet, and exited. I was greeted by my neighbor with my toilet paper roll in hand. She looked at me and said, “Nice Shot,” and placed the roll back in my stall.