So, the whole Door-Hanging-Off-Its-Hinges/Werewolf Transformation Debacle was finally resolved. I know you’re all relieved. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday, somebody appeared to have had enough the door hanging off its hinges, where it could still theoretically be used as a door if someone had the drive and motivation to hold it in place while they peed. So they tore it clear off its hinges and leaned it uselessly against the wall.
Yesterday morning while I was in there washing my hands, I had the distinct pleasure of seeing the janitor’s first reaction to this phenomenon. He knocked, poked his head in, and said, “Are you almost done?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You can come in. I’m almost out of here.”
“Is there anyone else in the bathroom?”
“Nope,” I said. “It’s safe.”
He entered, prepared to put in new toilet paper and fill the soap dispensers, as usual, but instead turned the corner to see the door leaning against the wall a solid four feet away from where it had started. And he just looked at me with a look of shock and alarm, and maybe a little disgust, like he had never seen anything so disturbing but had always had a slight suspicion that we, the ladies of the third floor, were capable of such barbarianism. And he just said, in a tiny, broken voice, “What the hell?”
I shrugged, said, “Wasn’t me,” and bolted from the bathroom. So that story wrapped itself up nicely.