As I was taking my post-8 am-lecture toilet break I heard someone come into the bathroom. This person swiftly occupied the stall next to mine (there are only two anyway), and started breathing extremely heavily. As strange as that sounds, it got stranger. After a minute or two of huffing and puffing his way to an empty intestinal tract, he promptly left the stall and went to wash his hands. Washing your hands is great; it’s fun, it’s hygienic, and it’s like your own personal 15-second waterfall. But this gentleman decided that his waterfall would be forever, defying both time and space… in other words he left the tap on and rushed out of the bathroom. All the while I’m sitting there wondering what on Earth just happened to my peaceful potty break.
This experience opens a whole new can of worms. Was he in such an unimaginable rush that he couldn’t turn the tap off? Why did he need to breathe so heavily? What will Slade do with Thea!?! Oh, the humanity! Ok, so that last one is a slightly different issue, but seriously, what was this guy up to? I have a theory that just might help us uncover the world’s greatest conspiracy since last week.
Toilet-Guy is an assassin. An assassin sent by the United Nations to kill the greatest mind of our time… Me. I am, after all, the man who picked the winner of The Mole two seasons in a row – from the first episode. I am the guy who tipped Gold Coast to beat Richmond when no one else had any clue how much they have improved over the off season you guys. And of course, I’m the employee who finally solved the biggest problem in my work’s history; where to put the cutlery we use at the front of the store (in a bucket, right next to where we used to put it, you’re welcome).
But lo, the assassin could not succeed in his impossible mission, for despite his attempt to poison the air by breathing out a minutely higher amount of CO2 than usual, or his dramatic last-ditch effort to flood the room and drown me, he was no match for the wit and wisdom that resides within this mind.
Will they try again? Perhaps. Let them try, for they shall never prevail. The question remains – why do they want me dead? Only time will tell, and I was actually just on my way out to ask him. That bastard, always knowing stuff… I’ll show him.
Either that, or Toilet-Guy was just really constipated, in a rush, and forgot not all taps these days turn themselves off. But I choose to believe the former.
Until next time, Toilet Guy,until next time…