"It's wet, aien't it?"

For the better part of a week, I've been very afraid of the nearest men's bathroom at work.

It's a single unit and about a third of the walk to the other restroom, so it's a nice excuse to vacate the cube. The privacy of it allows me to make strange faces in the mirror, wave a hand before the automated paper towel dispenser in a Queen Elizabeth II sort of way, or just casually waste a few minutes while pondering the absurdities of the work day.

Not this week.

Instead, there is a large wrench sitting like a smug bully atop of the toilet. I'm not sure why it's been placed there, other than to threaten me, but no matter why, it can't be good. I envision the room filling up with toilet water like the sleeping quarters of a sinking ship, or, like in some cartoon kitchen when the sink is left running.

If I go about a week or more without posting, I may have drowned. Send help.