Not a Square to Spare
Uh-oh. Should have checked the paper supply first, like I usually do. What now?
Fortunately, I heard water running in a sink nearby and, for the second time in a minute,. felt vast relief.
"Hello?" I said, a little timidly, aware that restroom tiles tend to amplify every little squeak in the place and not wanting to scare the sh ... um, hell out of whoever was there.
No reply. The water stops running and I hear the THUNK THUNK of the paper towel dispenser.
"Hel-LOOOOO!" A little louder this time.
"HEY! A little help here please?" (Now that I think of it, I hope I didn't say "Can you give me a hand here?" but I might have.)
I hear the restroom door open.
Of course, by now I'm flashing on the "Seinfeld" where Elaine is in a similar predicament and begs the women in the stalll next to her for just a square, only to be rebuffed: "I don't have a square to spare."
The door closes.
Now it's not a big company I work for. I could sit there for half an hour before anyone else comes in. What do I do?
Well, that part of the "Seinfeld" episode is never quite addressed, I don't think, but I can only assume Elaine did what I did. I opened the stall door, wished for luck that no one would choose that moment to take a leak, and, with my pants around my knees and cursing the foul demon (whoever he was) who left me in such a predicament, shuffled squishily into the next stall, where there was paper, glorious paper, wonderful, thin, scratchy, one-ply, cheap-ass paper.
So when did your life imitate art, or at least a sit-com? When have you said to yourself, "Sheesh, it's just like being in 'Two and a Half Men'?"
To suggest a diversion idea or leave Tater a fan letter, you can reach him by email.