There’s this local idiot who seems to think the only way to drive is via burnout. We hear them revving the guts out of the car that mummy and daddy undoubtedly paid for, while they spin their tyres without a thought given to the kids that use the park or the dogs and people that walk the area every day. What shits me is that while this idiot is getting their thrills, they’re creating a really unsafe environment. Let’s face it, if you’re busy trying to make lots of smoke and noise with your car you’re not going to be looking out for people. Or animals. And if you’re spinning mud up through the park as fast as you can, your focus isn’t really on anyone or anything else. Happy as a pig in mud? Yes and quite probably equally as ignorant. Beloved and I are trying to catch them in the act because the police said they can’t do anything without the rego plate, which is fine. We’re stubborn. Beloved and Scouty love gazing out the window, anyway.
It’s funny, the things you see if you keep your eyes open.
For example, last night when we were making dinner, I looked down at the garlic bulb in my hand and realised it looked like a baboon. Then I looked closer and now all I can see is a baboon with a Donald Trump comb-over.
Can you see it? It was really off putting at the time because I gave the garlic this deep voice in my head and it kept telling me I was fired and then I finally thought to respond by saying (in my head) that I was not fired, that YOU’RE about to be fired, and sauted and then EATEN.
Screw you, Trump.
Which leads to me to the adventure that was today.
I can only consider it to be revenge from Trump.
Beloved and I had a meeting of some importance today, and the meeting finished up in a small, house-like office. I asked about the loo and hobbled my way there. Sat, tended to business.
Realised that there was little power behind the flush.
Held the button down for as long as was humanly possible with one hand while I desperately tried to open the window with my other hand. It was locked.
There was nothing that could hide the exact nature of my business. Nothing. It’s OK, I reasoned with myself. Everyone does this. This is OK. We’ll just spray some air freshener and hope for the best.
But there was no air freshener, was there, Trump. You’d completely taken a mighty form of revenge, hadn’t you, Trump. There was only a pump soap container, a fake pot plant, and a window that wouldn’t open.
I tried to collect myself while I washed my hands. I let the water run while I thought about options. I couldn’t hurl myself out the window, it was locked. I couldn’t change this. I couldn’t fix it. I certainly couldn’t take it back. There wasn’t anything I could do. Not really. Just admit defeat, return to the meeting, and hope that I never have to see these people ever again. Well, except for my beloved – I would like to see her again.
I sat down, smelling of guilt and poor plumbing decisions.
As I sat, the woman who worked out of this little office said that the office was actually a display home that wasn’t really hooked up to the plumbing properly – she smiled and joked about me waiting for the water to warm up when I washed my hands, and that was when the pieces fell into place. As I made a lame comment about cold hands, the facts aligned and slotted themselves into order amongst the chaos that is my brain.
I’d just toileted in a display toilet.
A display toilet, with minimal plumbing connected.
A display toilet that could manage a number one, but should have been wearing a sign advising against any number higher than one.
Game, set and match, Trump.
Game, set and frigging match.