The toilet mafia

Last night, I decided to be a very good girl. Or at least a very good student. Lately my study ethics has been lower than most known and unknown bottom-dwellers, but now the decision to learn was made. So I found my hideously yellow compendium and stuck my nose in it with great enthusiasm.

Over the next couple of hours, said enthusiasm plummeted back down to bottom-dweller level. By the beginning of the third hour, my eyelids were starting to sag.

All of a sudden, I was standing in a very long, very grey and very narrow hallway. The walls were lined with stalls containing toilets in various states of disrepair, which was hard to ignore despite of the attempt to distract the users from this fact by hanging pretty pictures in gold frames inside the stalls.

Next to me, was my friend Anne. She hopped up and down and clearly needed to pee. However, she was sceptical of using one of the stalls, because it was a well known fact that they were operated by the mafia, even though there didn’t seem to be any goons around at that particular moment. But when you have to, you have to, and that’s all there is to say on the subject.

So she went…

And then something bad happened… Something really bad… Anne broke one of the picture frames. Next thing I know, we’re running down the endless hallways of stalls, chased by angry members of the mob, while we were throwing the corpse of the frame back and forth between us, saying stuff like:

“You take it”
“I don’t want it”
“Well, you broke it”

Then I woke up with magic marker all over my face. But at least I can pee now without being chased by the mafia.