Brenda: On life and other quirky bits

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Hello, I'm Brenda

I talk way too much for my own good and possess an ego too large for my small frame.

I like to challenge social norms and do silly stuff like work under the table instead of at it. Easily bribed with colourful balloons.

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I hate how nature always calls me at the wrong time.

A sudden tummy ache in the afternoon sent me rushing to the toilet. I was initially pretty glad that the public toilet wasn’t too far away from the cafe I was hanging out at.

Until I saw the queue. Only 6 stalls, and 10 people in line.

Do the math. At any one time, there would be at least 1 person taking an epic shit, leaving only 5 stalls usable. So it would take at least two complete turnovers of the remaining toilet stalls to cater to the 10 people in line.

So I waited. 10 minutes later, it was my turn.

I dashed into one cubicle, realized there wasn’t any toilet paper and promptly dashed out.

The next person in line gave me a look.

Another cubicle was vacated seconds later. I dashed in again … only to find that there wasn’t any toilet paper in that cubicle either.

So I dashed out again.

The next person began to look even more annoyed. I began to panic.

At that moment, I really felt as if I was Indiana Jones in search for the illusive dead sea scrolls. Where the heck was all the toilet paper?!

Where's the toilet paper?!
Cartoon credit to FunnyTimes.

Another stall vacated … but it was the type of loo that required you to squat. (And who likes squatting when taking an epic shit?!)

But woweeeee, there IS toilet paper!

So I dashed in, grabbed a handful of toilet paper, dashed out (and past the next person in line whose expression was now a mixture of confusion and frustration) and ran into one of the stalls (without toilet paper) that was vacated earlier.

Aaaaah, relief.

Then I looked down at my hands at realized that the toilet paper I’ve grabbed wasn’t enough. Uh oh.

At that point in time, the janitor had magically appeared and was in the midst of refilling the toilet paper supply in all the other toilet cubicles. It was perfectly audible. The rustling of the plastic bag containing several rolls of precious toilet paper. Oh, how I needed them! Not to mention that stealth was not the middle name of this janitor, who was slamming the lids of each toilet roll holder after she was done refilling them. (I could feel the walls of my cubicle vibrate. -.-)

A coupla’ minutes later, I knew that she had topped up the toilet roll for all the other five stalls … except mine.

And she was lingering around outside waiting for my cubicle to be vacated.

Oh, crap.

Stupid Murphy’s law. Why wasn’t the toilet paper there when I need it?! And when it’s finally available, it’s completely out of my reach?! OMGAHHHH.

A young woman and her kid entered the stall on the left of mine, and a flurry of activity could be heard as the kid and her mom engaged in energetic banter (over the sound of running pee).

I swallowed my pride and gently knocked on the wall next to me.

“Um, hullo! Is anyone there?” I called out.

Thankfully, the woman responded. And she passed me generous portions of toilet paper through the gap between the floor and the artificial wall separating us. I couldn’t thank her enough.

Subsequently, I timed my exit … ensuring that the woman and her kid were well out of that public toilet before I left my cubicle.

I walked out and came straight face to face with the janitor’s stony expression. Golly, I totally have no idea how long she’s been waiting there.

Awkward moment, it was.

The next time I take an epic shit, it will be on my own house.

Epic shit.
Cartoon credit to ToonPool.

I really hope you guys weren’t chomping on anything – especially anything chocolate-y – while reading this post. Oh, well. I should have warned you beforehand, shouldn’t I? But it’s more fun if I didn’t. (;

3 comments

Picture the scene. Mum and I are seated in my immunologist’s clinic while the former constantly badgers the (slightly overwhelmed-looking) doctor regarding the side effects I have from the immunosuppressants I take regularly.

“Oh yeah, and one more thing,” mum continues.

The immunologist looks at her.

“Why is Brenda getting hairier? Look at her arms! The hair is getting longer! Is this caused by the medicine too?”

The immunologist looks at me. I simply shrugged and give him my usual ‘mum’s worrying too much again‘ look like I always do when she goes about her usual habit of bombarding him with endless questions every visit.

“Well, yeah. It is caused by the medicine,” the immunologist says. “But, is it any cause of concern to you, Brenda?”

“Well, no!” says I.

“I like being hairy. It keeps me nice, warm and fluffy.”

The expression on my immunologist’s face at that moment was epic. From that moment, I think he’s quite convinced that he’s dealing with a loon instead of a patient with autoimmune problems.

And no, I wasn’t being sarcastic. That’s actually 50% truth. I quite like being hairy … definitely not for the ‘nice and fluffy’ part, but well … it does keep me warmer than usual.

9 comments

Two weeks ago, I bought about a foot worth of white cloth as I had a pair of jeans I wanted to patch.

However, I was way too busy at that time and left that folded piece of white cloth somewhere on my desk. Directly within sight, so that I’d remember to fix my jeans.

A few days later, my neat freak streak got the better of me and I decided to declutter my desk. I ended up placing the white cloth somewhere else in my room.

Now, I want to fix my jeans and have no freaking clue where the cloth is, despite racking my brains for almost three days.

FML. Welcome to my world.

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