Whilst utilising the ablutionary facilities at our local hospital following a satisfying poo, I couldn't help but notice a noticeable notice informing me that something was Out Of Order.
Having re-read that sentence, two things have just occurred to me. The first is that the provision of such information could be classified as a bit on the "too much" side, and the second is the possibility that I might have given the impression I have to go to hospital to have a poo.
Let me put your feverish minds at rest, because I don't have to. In fact, the finest pooologist in the hospital* has told me, repeatedly, that I don't need to go there any more, and that maybe I shouldn't have been all these years anyway, and furthermore my argument incorporating the outrageous expense of paper and the dearth of dock leaves in my garden isn't considered a medical emergency by even the most eminent gastrointestinal specialists, apparently.
There. Now if, as in modern kid parlance, that is considered "TMI" then so is informing everyone of the most mundane detail of my life, like how I like to slam my willy in the fridge door whilst balancing a frying pan full of eggs on my head.
And that's just a domestic chore essentially.
Ooh, a digression. Did you see that? Just there. Yeah, I know.
Now where was I?
Oh yes, the Out of Order sign. Well, it wasn't the notice itself that prickled my curiosity, but it's location:
It was just taped to the wall.
I prodded the wall, but it seemed to be working. I looked above and below the sign, but there was naught to be seen but a cockroach, and that also seemed to be functioning normally.
Maybe the whole room was Out of Order. If so, a janitor was going to have a nasty surprise in the morning after my visit.
Perhaps it was out of numerical order.
Maybe it was angry, that sort of out of order.
"Poo in me would ya! Why I oughta . . ."
Maybe it was misspelled and should have read Out Of Ordure, or possibly Out of Odour?
Well, I certainly fixed either of them possibilities.
Fixed 'em good.
Then it occurred to me that, perhaps, the Out Of Order notice was for a window, which was so out of order it had completely disappeared. You don't get less workable as a window than a solid wall.
That totally makes sense BTW.
After the usual hour or so of contemplation you get sitting on the lav, it occurred to me that the wall was, in fact, simply a storage facility for the Out Of Order sign, rather than out of order itself.
This is quite interesting because it makes one consider the difficulties in placing an unrequired Out of Order sign in an appropriate place, without it causing that place to then be rendered unused.
To conclude, I really shouldn't post after three quarters of a bottle of Vin de Pays d'Oc and an empty stomach.
*Dirty Rosita, in Laundry Services.