By Spence Blazak
The date is April 28th. The time is 4:11. My location is the bathroom in Busch Dining Hall at Rutgers. Some moments in time fly away into the abyss of eternity like chaff in the wind. Others are engrained into our minds forever and become a part of who we are. This moment is one of the latter.
I step into the bathroom to do what one generally does in such an establishment. It is Open House Day at Rutgers, so throughout the morn there were many partakings in which one could partake. I partook in face painting and received a Mike Tyson face tattoo (pictured above). For frame of reference, I also was wearing an obnoxiously red Hawaiin shirt that cost me 50 cents. It is the kind that one generally finds worn by recovering alcoholics.
Needless to say, I was looking good.
I go into the bathroom stall and lock the door. I drop my key and bend over to pick it up. Somehow, this bathroom stall is a realm like no other in the physical world. Somehow, gravity was manipulated by God's merciless hand to pluck my phone from my pocket and plop it into the icy waters of the toilet bowl behind me.
I stare into the one eyed soul of ceramic evil. It has snatched my phone. I then avert my gaze briefly and realize that there is a motion sensor detecting my every move: if I make one false step, then my phone will be flushed away to the land of dead goldfish and radioactive waste from Three Mile Island.
My woes didn't end here. There was a speck I saw right under the corner of the phone. A speck of brown deceit and melancholy. A speck that, when stared into for too long, could drive a man to the Edge of Sanity on the Canyon of Reason. Poop. There was poop in there.
Flash back to a side quest in my life: destroy my hell-forged phone so I have an excuse to buy myself a new one. Flash back to the present. I'm, at first, very excited about this. I thought I would have had to make a trip to Mount Doom (where it was incepted) to destroy the forsaken piece of technology.
Then I have a horrible realization: I gave my number to the beautiful girl from my Psych class that morning via Facebook chat, and I'm still waiting for her text. Horror rushes through my head. What. Have. I. Done. I just know what she will text me later on. "Dear Spence. I love you. If you respond to me by the end of the night, I'll dress up as Taylor Swift/Princess Leia and be forever yours. Can't wait! :)". Smiley face. I need that phone back.
I try to make a stick out of toilet paper to push the phone out without touching it. This works about as well you would expect. No choice. The skies open up, thunder swells into a stormy cloud and tears off the bathroom's roof. I puff out my chest, call upon the power of Odin, and jam my fist into the belly of the beast.
I arise, triumphant with my phone..........but covered in the toilet's bloody pulp. It flushes itself. I felled the beast in the nick of time. Nay. It still lives. It continuously stares at me, mocking me with its unblinking gaze. My hand will never be the same. Its scar will always remind me of this day and this horrible battle.
I wash up my wounds next to another man who washes up as well. I dry off and leave the battle field.
I then walk back in as the man stares at me, with a perplexed look on his face.
"I forgot to go......"
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