On Wednesday, I ate at a restaurant by work and decided to use the restroom before hopping on the subway to head home. I walked into the ONLY bathroom in the restaurant and surveyed the facilities. They looked functional.
I used the restroom and then I kicked my leg up to flush the toilet with my foot. When I tapped the handle… it fell off and clinked on the tile floor! Consequently, the toilet didn’t flush.
My eyes bulged and I immediately began to sweat. I prayed that no one would knock on the door or hear the commotion. That was probably a futile wish considering the bathroom door was made of plywood and conveniently opened to a group of tables and the line to place orders.
I bent over and peered at a screw that jutted out from where the handle had been. I figured that the screw must still flush the toilet. So, I pushed it.
Except, it didn’t flush. Instead, with Hulk-like strength, I pushed the screw so far back into the hole that it disappeared! No handle, no screw, and one un-flushed toilet. My stress level skyrocketed knowing that I would, once again, be blamed for a defunct toilet that was NOT MY FAULT.
I quickly assessed my options and decided not to repeat my last experience. I opened the door, scanned the restaurant, avoided all eye contact, and acted as if nothing had happened. Then, I did what anyone would do in my situation with my history of public humiliation and… fled.
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