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I write with no particular theme in mind, because I am random like that.

Oct
22 2011

11:31 PM

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Public toilet shenanigans

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. (;

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Mar
31 2011

Little lizard with 6 lives

It made its first appearance on my bathroom wall about a week ago. It was cautious about being spotted, moving its little head furtively left and right with every step it took.

I stood at the sink, brushing my teeth when I detected some small movements from the corner of my eye. I stopped short and looked over, and that was when the lizard stopped in its tracks too. I shrugged since I was in an uncomfortable position (with my mouth full of foam then) and resumed brushing. The movement resumed too.

I looked over and the lizard stopped moving again. This was a shrewd one.

I gargled the foam out and immediately welded the shower hose. I could sense that the lizard had begun to panic there and then before all its furtive moments gave way to frantic running.

Too late. The blast of water from the hose knocked the lizard off the wall and onto the ground. Floundering for survival in the surging waters, the fellow was eventually washed down the drain pipe.

Brenda – 1, Lizard – 0.

Day 2
I stepped into the bathroom and the little one suddenly scurried out from beneath a pail. The same one as the other day. Not expecting that at all, I let out a squeal and jumped – but not before welding my trusty ol’ weapon all over again.

For the second time that week, the little lizard struggled to break free as it was washed away into the drain pipe while I grinned sadistically at my second victory for the week.

Brenda – 2, Lizard – 0.

Day 3
The little one decided to get even shrewder. This time, it didn’t target the bathroom. It decided to seek revenge in my room instead. And of all places, the wardrobe.

It stood at the edge of my wardrobe looking at me as if it was going “muahahaha, you can’t get rid of me so easily”. Heck, it was probably laughing its guts out when I let out one of the loudest screams I’ve ever let out so far in 2011. And there I was, panicking because any moment, it would start running into the abyss that is my wardrobe.

Damn, this was a smart one. But it got mangled anyway by mum who came to my rescue at the moment – grabbing the little thing with a tissue and flushing it down the toilet.

“There! it’ll never bother you again,” she says. I was happy.

Mum – 1, Lizard – 0.

Day 4 and 5
I bet mum was regretting she said that. Because, the shrewd little one had decided to briefly stop taunting me, but shifted its attention to her instead.

For two days in a row, the little one showed up in the bathroom with my mum – terrorizing her in the shower, or while she’s in the midst of her half-hour long makeup-application sessions. To her credit, she didn’t scream in terror like what I’s usually do. Instead, she put up a bold fight with the little one with the use of several layers of toilet roll and this awesome suction mechanism called the toilet flush.

Mum – 3, Lizard – 0.

Day 6
“There! it’ll never bother you again,” the mum said a few days ago. Boy, was she wrong.

The lizard showed up in the bathroom again, this time slightly larger than I had last seen it (which also means it’s harder to wash the damn thing DOWN the drain pipe). This time – utterly frustrated – I contemplated using something heavy to just squash the damn thing dead once and for all. Previously, washing/flushing the thing down the drain pipe/toilet bowl could mean that the lizard could have managed to wedge itself on some solid surface, survive and then climb its way back up.

But squashing it would only mean that someone HAS to pick up the remains – and the person wouldn’t be me.

So, I picked up the shower hose again. And turned the water temperature dial to its hottest possible setting.

And because the lizard was larger, I couldn’t wash it down the drain pipe as easily as before. The fellow was washed around the toilet floor (with me standing on top of the toilet bowl), round and round for almost an entire minute as I struggled to get it down the drain. For a while, I felt as if I was cooking lizard soup.

It went down the drain pipe in the end. For the third time. Good bye, little one. For good, I hope.

Brenda – 3, Lizard – 0.

.
.
.

I haven’t seen it for three days so far. And I hope I’ll never see it again. This is one shrewd lizard with a stubborn will to live. But smart lizards should also know that they shouldn’t return to the scene at which they were last (attempted to be) murdered. Tsk.

Final score: Brenda – 3, Lizard – 0 and Mum – 3, Lizard – 0.

May
09 2008

Guess who got locked in the toilet?

Had a family reunion-cum-hangout session at my aunt’s hotel room in Fairmont Hotel this evening.

Decent place, lovely view and the toilet was like whoa – white, classy and modern. Cousins settled on the bed with their eyes glued to the television set, while the adults settled at a nearby table for a round of cards.

That was when I decided to use the toilet. (For obvious reasons.)

Closed the door, latched it, did whatever I had to do, washed hands and then proceeded to unlock the door and get out.

The last two steps failed.

Stupid door refused to unlock. The stupid latch was jammed in place.

That was when I yelped, and sent everyone outside scurrying over to the toilet door. (At least, that was what I thought – because all of a sudden, I heard a lot of talking and footsteps outside my door.)

Then, I heard Aunty Olive yell.

“OH SHIT! I FORGOT TO TELL BRENDA NOT TO LOCK THE DOOR! THE LOCK IS SPOILT!”

Now, she tells me.

More murmurings could be heard from outside and I heard that apparently – my cousin David had been locked in this very same bathroom in the afternoon, and all efforts at prying the door open using normal means failed. Engineers had to be called in to force the door open with a screwdriver.

My Uncles then began using metal spoons to open the door in a similar fashion – but failed. The stupid door just refused to open.

Housekeeping was called to report the issue.

Ten minutes later, no one had arrived and I was starting to get really agitated. (Yes, I know that the toilet is all modern and classy and all, but I wouldn’t like to be stuck there for an extended period of time with nothing to do except for when I need to have a good shit, thank you.)

Uncles continued to fiddle with the door, and even my mum and my grandmother attempted to have a go at attempting to open the door. Of course – likewise, all attempts failed.

Housekeeping was called again.

Still, no one arrived. Those bums were taking their own sweet time to tend to this issue.

Cousin David attempted to keep me company from outside the door (and likewise, also attempting to pry the lock loose), but it’s hard to have a normal conversation with someone when you can’t even see his face. (Perhaps the same reason why I hate phone conversations.)

Then, one of my relatives dialed for the manager.

The doorbell rang within five minutes. More footsteps were heard as my relatives scurried over to the door. Then, I heard someone jiggling the handle, sounds of scraping metal and the next thing I knew – the door flew open.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of the story.

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