The lesser of two evils

If you're desperate enough, sometimes you've got to make some pretty difficult decisions. Some examples are whether or not to eat another person if stranded on a desert island, whether you're happy to try that little bit of milk in the bottom of the bottle because it's the last one, and finally and most importantly, which cubicle to take in a toilet.

Desperation is key to making split-second decisions, and defines just how much of a gamble they can sometimes turn out to be.

For example, take my situation the other day. I was busting, and I mean literally rupturing my bladder, for a pee. So off I dash to the toilet, fit to burst.

I storm into the gents only to be met by a green cloud of noxious fumes that could only be the product of someone else's emotional trauma some minutes previous.

The sheer stench is unquestionable. What is questionable however, is which cubicle is emitting it.

Time is short. You're unable to pause for thought. It's not possible to think, even if you had the time because one hundred per cent of your brain power is concentrating on keeping the flood gates closed.

So you make a decision. Or rather, I made a decision. And boy did I regret it.

Losing my aim

Our office toilets are split into the two sexes, each sex comprising of two cubicles.

The instant schoolboy error that was commited was not allowing any daylight into said cubicles.

The second schoolboy error was to fit the main switch that controlled all of the cubicle lights outside the toilet door. One switch kills all lights.

Since our business centre started promoting a more environmental policy, somebody walks around turning the lights off now. It's a good thing too, but not in the middle of the day, and not when you don't know what the switch actually does.

So there I am. In the gents cubicle, having a pee, stood up.

BANG.

Pitch black.

Out go the lights, and I'm cursing the person that did it, whilst still trying to maintain a reasonable line on my stream of urine in the hope that it's still hitting the inside of the toilet.

I put it down to some spoon-fed not being aware of all functions of the light switch, and left it at that.

It happened again yesterday. So I put up a sign that read something along the lines of:

Please don't switch this light off.

You're not saving the planet, you're turning off the lights in the cubicles and spoiling my aim.

I came in this morning and looked in the kitchen bin. As I expected, there was my sign, screwed furiously into a tiny ball after it'd been ripped from the wall.

Whichever remedial that keeps doing it has learned what the switch does, and got a bit angry in the process. They'd taken it personally. Hehe.

If it happens again, I swear to god I'll run out of the toilets mid-stream to see who it is.