We have a gremlin that lives in our kitchen. He drinks all the iced tea except a drizzle in the bottom of the pitcher. He eats all the pretzels except for a few crumbs and salt. He eats all the pickles and leaves the jar in the fridge with just pieces of garlic rolling around in the brine. He also snipes the good leftovers and doggy bags.
Apparently, he has infiltrated Chaos Bean’s work place and is apparently a girl. I’ve not been in a woman’s restroom in a while – one can never forget the Damen/Herren imbroglio of 1987 – and I was unaware that ‘emergency’ feminine hygiene products are stashed there. Apparently the gremlin menstruates often and heavily or is lining her nest with sanitary napkins because the disappearance of tampons is a serious problem.
Chaos Bean made this announcement during dinner with friends and a former coworker, many of the women that were there commiserated that this wasn’t an uncommon problem and any woman who has had this tale of misfortune pointed it out that it has happened to their emergency stash in the workplace.
I can’t imagine the fury this must inspire. I lose my religion when someone takes pens and chocolates out of my desk (you have to bring your own) so I am pretty sure people would die if they took my tampons, if I indeed had them.
I imagine that this is a lot worse than the toilet paper roll running out and needing someone to run and get you a roll. I’ve been to that aisle in Target. I know that I’m out of depth and there are so many choices that mathematically I’m destined to fail. Left to my own devices I will get the wrong toilet paper, either confusing the brand or the texture – I’ve been to college and I’ve learned that you really can use any toilet paper. However, I know the retribution that comes with presenting someone with the wrong paper. I’d hate to do that with a tampon.
We fear what we do not understand. I understand toilet paper. I don’t understand how or why my friend Elizabeth considers it gluttony to use more than three pieces at one time – for me it’s a delicate balance between not getting my hands dirty and not clogging up the toilet. I have no idea what to do about the tampons and I’m pretty sure that I’d not only get the wrong kind, but I’d get the wrong kind in the most drastic and catastrophic way. The kids would call it, “epically bad.” I also cannot imagine being sequestered in the bathroom waiting for rescue from someone wholly ignorant of your plight. This must be how the gremlins entertain themselves.
This is analogous to the time I tried to make an analogy at work by saying, “it’s like when you’re reading French literature and someone compliments a lady on how well she has made her toilet…” to realize that I am the only person in the United States who reads Dumas because he likes it, and misses Gretchen. Certainly this is absurd where I work since most of them cannot read or write.
When someone steals from us we say, “they probably needed it more than I did.” This is not true in the bathroom. I can’t imagine the converse indignity of the poor young lady, trapped by the gremlins, trying to describe what they needed EXACTLY and well enough so that they might be saved from their plight. I really have no idea how bad that would be; I only know the terror of being outside scribbling down all the adjectives and modifiers that would bring you the exact product you needed to secure your release because the wrong product has it’s own awful consequences.
I am now compelled to stock up on toilet paper.
Comments