Too Much Time On My Hands

It was one of those nights when everything went smoothly up in the comm room. Nothing was lost, broken or misplaced. I got through the inventory amazingly fast and with minimal interruptions. When I went to check the admin building all the doors were locked that were supposed to be locked.

In short, I was bored to tears.

During one of my smoke breaks Vinnie came down and showed me a page of the novel he's been writing at for the last few years. It struck a chord in my brain. Things whirled around in my head and when I got back up to the comm room I sat down at the computer and this came out:

I walked in to find a partial roll of toilet paper laying on the floor. Only one or two squares of it were loose, flapping slowly in the breeze there on the floor.

Who in the hell had left that there?

Where did it come from?

And why toilet paper? What did it mean?

It was incongruous. It was ridiculous. But it gave me a shiver that went all the way to my core like someone had just poured liquid nitrogen down the back of my pants. The kind of chill that is so hard your butt cheeks slam together like you'll never be able to poop again.

I wanted to bolt for the basement and very nearly did before I realized that we didn't have one. The attic was equally fictional. This building only had one floor. Who designs buildings like that? It was insane. What if there was some sort of emergency?

An emergency like the very one I was facing at this moment.

Only one way out of the room. And, as I had missed seeing the roll of toilet paper on my way in, it was now between me and the door. Escape appeared to be impossible.

Think! I had to think! I've read all of those books. One of them had to have a solution. All of those hard bitten detectives who had been in deadly peril must have faced something similar. Battling it out with armed thugs was nothing like this, you understand. But one of them must have faced something almost as dangerous as my present situation.

Suddenly, it hit me!

An idea, not the toilet paper.

I leapt forward, grabbing the errant roll in my hand and winding the loose squares back onto it and stuffed it unceremoniously back into the desk drawer.

That was a close call.

I may have to put myself in for a bonus.

When I finished writing this I decided I would print it out and save it for later. There is no printer in the comm room. The nearest one is down in the control center, which is where I print things anyway.

So I sent it down there. And the following conversation ensued:

Ms Odd: The printer is working. Rev is upstairs. He must be bored.

Sgt Puddle: Yup. Nobody else sends anything up here to print. Must be him.

Vinnie: This should be good!

A few minutes later my phone rings and Sgt Puddle says "Are you okay up there?"

Me: "Oh yeah. Got it under control. I subdued it."

Then Vinnie gets on the phone. "Did you have any further contact with the roll of toilet paper?"

Me: "No"

Vinnie: "Did you receive any injuries from the toilet paper?"

Me: "No"

Vinnie: "Do you need to see a counselor?"

Me: "No, I'm good thanks anyway."

And they spent the rest of the evening leaving partial rolls of toilet paper all over the place, just to freak me out. It almost worked a couple of times.

The bottom line was that apparently I have too much time on my hands. I need a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or a girlfriend with a hobby. Or maybe one of all three of those. I'm sure my wife wouldn't mind.

So Thursday is National Hoagie Day. There's a celebration you can really sink your teeth into! It's also Cartoonists Day, Cinco De Mayo, International Midwives Day, Martin Z. Mollusk Day and the International Day of Reason.

And just who in the snap is Martin Z. Mollusk?