It was a Monday. You know, the day of the week no one ever really likes. I'm no exception to that. I just really hate Mondays. It's the whole first day of school/work/whatever thing that gets me. Really hard to pull through that, I find. Lucky for me, that part of the day was gone and done with. As we speak, I'm locking the sliding backdoor of my house behind me . . .
Just like every other end to my school days, I stepped out of my shoes and dropped my bag on the same spot on the floor I always do (which is incidentally next to Corran's also-fallen bag). My house keys were soon to follow next to my bag (I mean, if I hung them somewhere, I'd lose them!). I then draped my jacket over the nearby barstool (I still have yet to decide what colour that jacket actually is - either olive-green or brown or something). I took a glance down the stairs as I passed them in the hall - no lights were on yet, therefore no one was down there. As for the washroom on the side of the hall, the light was on under the door, and the wonderful fan was roaring proudly - ergo, Corran was home, and
rather busy by the looks of it. I walked past the lavatory and quickly into my room, where I demilitarized myself of my wallet, breath mints, and torso of a watch (no straps, remember?).
After school, usually there's somewhat of a dash for use of the computer. Needless to say I wasn't going to waste this opportunity today! I hopped down the steps two-at-a-time, and landed with a "thump" at the bottom. I took a seat in the orange office chair and pressed the buttons on the tower, monitor, and speaker. Then I sat there twiddling my fingers, whistling Christmas Carols to myself (as it IS December, after all). Before Windows finally booted up, I couldn't help but realize just how indefatigably uncomfortable I was at the moment! Something wasn't sitting right in my viscera . . . yeah,
the computer could wait . . . . .
I strolled through that basement with a tune on my tongue and an urgency in my . . . well . . . ya know, the mid-bit. Lucky for me, the bathroom was RIGHT there. I went into the cold, tiled room, locked the door behind me, and flicked the fan on.
I was gonna be here a while . . . . .
All right, I REALLY don't have to go into too much detail as to my primary concerns in this . . . facility, so I'll leave that part to your imagination. All you need know is that I was contently . . . sitting there . . . doing my stuff.
I reached to the freestanding shelves to my right, and picked up the "Archie™ Digest" on top of the pile of three and took a read (gotta have SOMETHING to do, right?). I found it to be lacking, as I had read through it several times before - much like the rest of the "Archie™ Comics" in the pile. Yes, I could almost remember every line in the speech-bubbles as they said it. To me, it was like, "yeah, Reggie, I already know you're going to dump a pile of snow on Betty's head; don't bother." I dunno, I guess I'm just tired of reading these same comics over and over again. Eventually it reached the point where the antics of "Archie and Co." were no longer amusing. I put the book back on the pile, and decided to just look around - the fan still humming proudly in the background.
I was always interested as to how the yellow (yes, yellow) walls of the bathroom made the room look so much brighter. Well . . . it wasn't so much brighter as it was . . . reflective? I can't really explain it. It's a brightness that isn't the standard glowing-white of a regular light bulb. But I guess the yellow walls DID after all put you in the right frame of mind for . . . that particular room. It was like a fast-food restaurant; they paint the walls in hot colours to make you get in and out faster (watch for that one next time you go to "McPuke's", okay?). But yeah, the colours did make you want to hurry up a bit. Plus, there were no windows, since it was a basement bathroom - no one likes to be in a hole, right?
Behind the one door directly in front of me was a tall, mounted mirror. Now why the previous homeowners would have EVER decided to put a body-length mirror on the back of a door I would never know. I guess they just really wanted that mirror, and that was the only good spot left. Me, personally, just found it as a bad excuse to practice facial-expressions. Yeah, you heard me right; I'm looking at a reflection of myself on the crapper, trying to see if I can do the single-eyebrow-raise on either side of my head. After trying out my "intrigued" look, I tried "angry", "frustration", and even "horrific-confusion" (that's the one where you look like you saw your dog die while you were calculating the decimals to pi).
Well, the expression-thing got boring too (yeah, go fig, huh?). I continued to scan the small room. To my right was the shelf-thing I was talking about earlier. The top shelf held most of Dan's day-to-day's, like a toothbrush/toothpaste, hair stuff, and his razor (oh yeah, and shaving cream, of course). The bottom shelf (which was floor-level) held a big thing of toilet paper - very comforting to know. I'm sure that's one of the most worrisome moments in life, when you run out of TP. I was glad to know that wouldn't happen to me today. After looking over my shoulder, I saw another roll of the tissues sitting on the water-tank of the fixture - yet even more comfort.
The middle shelf had the Archie Digests I had already sifted through, a couple magazines, and a shoebox that contained what I think was an electric hair-clipper from back when he cut (or shaved) his own hair. Back to the magazines, I saw . . . . . a bunch of girl-magazines. Well, not so much girl-magazines, as . . . non-guy-magazines. There was like, a Cosmopolitan™ in there and stuff. My theory was because of his girlfriend - at least that's what I'd LIKE to hope, at least.
Damnit, Dan, where's your damn Maxim™ magazines??? Well, it's not like I was in much of a reading mood anymore, so oh well.
I decided to give the Archie comics another chance, and picked up a different one than before (this one had a cover of Jughead making a snowman lying in a hammock). After going through a thing about Archie's crappy car, I remembered that this was the year I was going to get to drive in the snow for the first time (hey, I reached that connection, I'm sure you could have too). But yeah, the thought of how I actually passed that driving test a couple months ago still made me feel really good and stuff - I mean, that damn test took me three tries! But, at least it was all over and done with . . . at least for now, at least. So yeah, winter-driving: can't wait.
"Ern?" I heard Dan call through the door (the intrusive ASS that he is [yeah, I guess he must be home then]).
"What?"
"What are you doing in there?"
That little big sunuva . . .
"
What the hell do you think???" I could then lightly hear him laughing to himself under the purring of the odour-fan. So, I don't think I know of anyone else who would have a sibling that would do stuff like that. Anyone know of any other than my retarded brother? I'm starting to think that just because of that, I should turn off the fan before I'm finished - JUST for spite to him (for you see, he's been very open as to how he somewhat dislikes us defecating in his bathroom for that very reason). However, the whole thing about the effort for getting up and stuff really didn't feel worth it, so I just let it slide.
Hey, speaking of sliding . . . . . no, I better not say it. That would be going too far, me thinks.
I guess it's hit that point in the defecation-journey that I mention the toilet paper. Don't get me wrong, I mean there's plenty of it here. The thing is that . . . well . . . . . I don't know why, but I'd swear Dan was buying his own toilet paper or something! The stuff he had in his washroom (or bathroom, if you consider a standing-shower worthy of "bath") was very, very different from the stuff upstairs. One, the sheets were WAY longer before the perforations. Two, they were one-ply (sick!). Three . . . no wait, that's it. Never mind. But still, his paper had a strange . . .
feeling to them. Anyhow, I only have to worry about it for a little while longer. Once again, I won't go into details for your sake.
"Aw, you guy!" I cried out to Corran, who was now sitting at the computer. "I take ten minutes out of my life to take a dump, and you just HAVE to capitalise, huh?"
"Ah, I've got hockey in like, half an hour."
"Whatever." I just took to the television, and fired up some Mario Tennis™. So I was happily content (more or less) winning some extra options for our digital athletes, biding my time 'til Corran would have to get his hockey stuff ready for his game (FYI, he plays defence, and is really good at it because he's REALLY big!). In the distance I could hear the fan grind to a halt (it has a timer-switch). Around the same time I heard a door open and close . . .
"Ambition, courage . . ." Dan recited as he stepped through the hall from his room, "not on the battlefield, but there are other forms of courage . . ." I was still impressed that he hadn't grown tired of that string from "Gladiator™".
"Dan, why are still being such a Commodus?"
"I'm not Commodus," he says, "I'd rather be the dog."
"Of course," I conceded, as he spoke of the dog at the beginning of the movie that saves Russel Crowe's life. That dog was both (in Dan's eyes) a hero, and his favourite character in the movie. I just humour him (clearly the REAL hero of that movie is the maggot that eats at the dead flesh in Maximus' arm [I'm kidding!]).
I could tell that Dan was heading for his bathroom/washroom/whatever, as he always does when he gets home from a hard day's work of whatever it is he does. Then it happened. The door closed, the fan went on, and the door flew back open. Yelling down the hallway, he says to us,
"Okay, which one of you dicks didn't use the fan in there?"
"I used the damn fan!" I answered bluntly.
"Well don't forget to use the spray too, you stupid dick!"
"Alright!" I could then hear the little aerosol-can with its hollow sounding spray neutralise whatever methane was left in the room. All I could do was laugh to myself.
