You save the humble but bring low those whose eyes are haughty.
As I took a rest in the room at work, my floor-directed gaze strayed to the corner of the stall. There I noticed — in addition to the normal accumulation of black grit, hair, and miscellaneous gross-looking detritus that I expect — a wad of toilet paper, dried out, but with the distinctive appearance of once having been used. It had lodged itself against the stall wall-support during one of the disconcertingly routine floor-inundations that our ladies’ room experiences and had dried there, somehow overlooked by the unenthusiastic cleaning staff (and honestly, who could be enthusiastic about a job that requires you to clean toilets and empty garbages all day?).
This wad of used, desiccated toilet paper became a memento of somebody’s embarrassing foray into the exciting world of clogged plumbing. Too, it forced me to ask myself: What I would do if presented with that unthinkable conundrum of the toilet-clogger? Run and hide, then feign surprise and disgust later? Or fess up and face the humiliation?
I can only hope that I never have to find out, and that I never contribute my own little wad of paper to that memorial.
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