shunn | Brainstorm

So, for some weeks now, the slide latch on the inside of one of the two stalls in the men's room on the floor of the building where I work has been broken. The little knob that screwed into the tongue was prone to fall off, and then there would be nothing to keep the tongue itself from sliding right out of the latch and falling on the floor. I had myself reassembled this little mechanism many times in the past, but then came one sad day in July or August when the parts were nowhere to be found. Now one could only hope to find both stalls empty upon entering, and therefore be able to choose the one that still did latch.

Now, for the past few days, upon losing this perverse race and having to enter the unlatchable stall, the first thing I've seen upon entering said stall is a toothbrush that some unfortunate left sitting atop the toilet paper dispenser. For days, the forlorn toothbrush had not moved. I had, in fact, vaguely considered leaving a note for its owner, should he ever arrive to reclaim it, suggesting that it be boiled thoroughly before its next use, or preferably just thrown away.

Yesterday afternoon, however, upon entering the stall and still seeing it there, I had a new thought. I looked at the toothbrush. I looked at the latch. I looked at the toothbrush. I looked at the latch. I wasn't sure the handle of the toothbrush was flat enough for my purpose, but there was nothing to lose by trying. So I tried.

And by God, I latched that stall.

Brainstorm

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