What? Rhyming is fun, y'all.
And no, this is not another post about poo. Although that would go well with my rhyming scheme...
My work bathroom is freezing today. So cold that my friend Lynn claimed it was causing her leg hairs to grow their own leg hairs. That's some cold shit.
I just found myself in the handicapped stall (no, I'm not handicapped - but I'm a tall lady and enjoy the extra leg room), freezing to death and wondering if I had peed yellow icicles, when I reached for the toilet paper and noticed that the source of the cold air (and possibly evil itself) was coming from the toilet paper dispenser.
My mind begins to churn. "How is this possible? Is the toilet paper dispenser really a portkey? Should I just not touch the thing and drip dry so I'm not transported somewhere else while my pants are around my ankles? That would be awful! So embarrassing! Wow, Harry Potter references aren't even topical. Bless my heart. Where the hell is that cold air coming from?"
So, like any good self-respecting Nancy Drew, I decide to investigate (after I decide to wipe). After I check the other stalls and the sinks for co-workers, I get down on my hands and knees, looking up inside the dispenser for some sort of hole that would create a draft. Nothing. I feel around inside the dispenser for a hole. Nothing. "Where is this steady stream of freezing air coming from? And, if we had office mice, would they be smart enough to use this space to refrigerate their cheese?"
The bathroom door opens and I'm jolted back to my senses. It is only then that I'm aware that I'm crawling around with my HANDS ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR AT WORK. All caps are necessary because THAT IS DISGUSTING.
So, for the sake of hygiene, I've washed my hands of both the germs and the detective work. Some mysteries are better left unsolved, I suppose. If not, we never would have gotten that great TV show.