A quandary

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A quandary

I was standing in front of the towel machine, the type that only allows so much of the magic fabric to advance before it clicks together a suction cup stopper. Then you have to wait a few minutes for it to pop, and only then can you get more of that clean pure towel goodness.

I’m standing there and the gnome comes in. He says, “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting on a towel.”

He left me to my task without a word.

Pineapple came through. He asked me the same.

I replied, again, “I’m waiting for a towel.”

He stared at me, smirking if only slightly.

I felt as though I should try and explain my thought process – why I was standing there with two damp hands in the bathroom by myself facing a rack of soiled linen: “Sure, I could take a knife, pry the lock and manually advance the gear. But then I’d have to wash my hands again.”

Which is what we always to – there is no key to the fucking thing. You want in, you break in.

Yes. It was a smirk. Now in full flight, wings spread to the breeze, “When I was just in here, I knew you were waiting outside, so I pulled that fucker extra hard. It’s going to take ten minutes for that thing to pop.”

I said fuck it and started to dry my hands on whatever was left dry around the edges.

He looked at me and smiled. “I did it just ‘cuz.”

As I finished and turned out the light, the suction cup popped.

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