Shiny stuff slips down the drain (or bathroom complications)

With me recovering from surgery, I haven’t really felt like writing much. But I suppose that shouldn’t stop me from posting something online. I’ll probably spend the next week or so digging out old stuff I wrote for folks to peruse. Gotta keep my loyal reader (no S) happy.

---

I found a ring today. Actually it’s more like a band of cheap aluminum (maybe it was part of a pipe). Since I’m drawn to pretty things, I found myself slipping a finger in it and wearing it around. The ring was a little too big and slipped on and off with relative ease. Despite it being tacky, I liked having something on my finger because the noise it made when I tapped things.

Later on in the day, I went to the bathroom. Now I’m not gonna tell you what I did in the bathroom because it’s irrelevant to the story (and probably something you don’t wanna hear). What I will share is that I thoroughly washed my hands afterwards ’cause that’s what I do.

Before I even realized it, the ring slipped off my finger and down the drain. I quickly panicked. The ring clearly clogged the drain as the sink didn’t empty as quickly as I should have. I thought about just bailing–letting the clogged drain become someone else’s problem. Unfortunately, I noticed someone else was in the bathroom. The stall door was closed but he might’ve seen me–and I didn’t wanna be identified as a drain clogger. Plus, I kinda sorta liked the ring.

I looked down the drain and saw the ring was recoverable. I needed a screw driver or pliers to fish it out–but it shouldn’t be that hard to recover with the right tools. I left the bathroom in search of the necessary tools. Ninety seconds later I was back, armed with an eight-inch screw driver. No one saw me grab the tools so I knew if it came down to it, I could maintain a case of total deniability.

When I entered the bathroom, the inhabitant of the occupied stall exited. To my utter horror, it was the station president. I quickly shoved the tools into my pocket, not wanting to explain to him why a ring-sized piece of pipe was clogging the sink. He washed his hands (unaware of the inefficient drain) and smiled at me as he left the restroom.

Relived that I wasn’t caught in the bathroom with an odd array of tools (I didn’t want the station manger wondering why I needed a screwdriver to go to the bathroom), I dove into my task and retrieved the ring out of the drain. During my fishing expedition, I pulled up a Heath bar wrapper and some sorta solid state mold. When I got the ring out, I returned all the previous occupants back into the drain (I didn’t put them there–let someone else fish them out) and rinsed off the ring. With the ring back on my finger, I knew I had committed the perfect crime…and that the station president washes his hands after using the restroom.

Hey, not all knowledge is useful.